


Orphans

by Che_Butter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Gen, Harry Has Issues, Harry Needs a Hug, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Grow Up Together, Harry Potter Has PTSD, Harry is a Good Friend, Harry is a Little Shit, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, Identity Issues, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Mental Health Issues, Muggle London, Possessive Tom Riddle, Repressed Memories, Tom Riddle Being an Asshole, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Wool's Orphanage (Harry Potter), Worth Re-Reading, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23645473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Che_Butter/pseuds/Che_Butter
Summary: Forced into sharing his bedroom at Wool's Orphanage with a nine-year-old Harry, eight-year-old Tom struggles to discover the secret as to why his new roommate refuses to bend to his will and why, he of all people, cares so darn much.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 71
Kudos: 277





	1. "Bad Moon Rising"

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I had another moment of inspiration for yet another Harry Potter fanfiction! This one is slightly darker and takes place with both Tom & Harry being orphans at Wool's in the 1930s. 
> 
> Please enjoy and as always thank you so much for reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s this old, well known saying, ‘We lose ourselves in books, we find ourselves there too’ that Harry has never quite understood. What the heck is an orphan like Harry suppose to find? Other than the borrowed book …….. and …… unknowingly new ways to push his room mate’s buttons?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone!
> 
> Sorry for how long it's been since I last posted! It seems like whenever I am told I am going to have some free time, I am sadly mistaken. I am really looking forward to when we finally have a cure for Covid19! REALLY, REALLY Looking forward it!!
> 
> Anyway, here is the re-edited, rewritten version of the chapter originally known as "Room-mates!" I am in the process of doing the same thing with "The Door-Way" as well so that its an easier branch into my more in-depth story idea.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy reading this lengthy chapter!! :)

_“Hope you got your things together,_

_Hope you are quite prepared to die,_

_Looks like we’re in for nasty weather,_

_One eye is taken for an eye._

_Well, don’t go around tonight,_

_Well, it’s bound to take your life,_

_There’s a bad moon on the rise.”_

_\- Bad Moon Rising_

_Creedence Clearwater Revival (1969)_

============

Harry sat on the lumpy, creaky bed, his small hands holding a little worn book that he had borrowed briefly from Dennis earlier. The book, which was bright yellow, had the words "The child's picture story of Oliver Twist" in fancy letters. Harry hadn't originally wanted to borrow the book. Something about the sad-looking boy on the cover had hit a nerve. Wasn't there enough sadness in the world? However, Dennis had been adamant about making him take it. 

"It's about an orphan ....., JUST like us, Harry! Only there's a happy ending here! I swear it has one!"

So far, Harry hadn't an inkling what the younger boy was going on about. He had just finished reading page fifteen and had fully decided that every adult so far in the book was horrible. Mrs. Mann, Mr. Bumble, the Workhouse Master, they were ALL terrible people that pulled at Harry's heartstrings. The brunette was still trying to decide who was the worst in his personal opinion. He had initially been thinking that it was a close tie between Mrs. Mann and Mr. Bumble, but now he wondered if possibly the Workhouse Master took the title from both of them.

"All that for just wanting some extra gruel? Wow. Just wow."

He sighed before placing the book on the bed beside him. The bed screamed in a whiny protest as he sprawled out on the lumpy mattress. A contemplative look on his face as he thought about the page he had just read. It seemed too cruel of punishment even to imagine spending time in complete darkness. 

"Definitely has to be the Workhouse Master," Harry said quietly, his previous thinking quickly allowing him to come to an answer. "No one should be locked in complete darkness for ANYTHING. Attitude or not."

The words he last read played continuously in his mind. He wasn't quite sure why they resonated so deeply. But for some unknown reason, Harry felt called to the simple repeating phrase, the words growing more illegibly the more they circled in his mind.

_'They put him all alone in the dark, and made him stay there …….'_

_"No! Please! I'm sorry!!" He pleads, his small body wrapping tightly around the man's leg in utter submission. "I won't do it again! Please!! I promise!!"_

_'They put him all alone in the dark, and made him stay there…….'_

_'A rough hand collides with his face, causing fresh blood to pour out of his broken nose. He is no much for the brutality and collapses on the cold ground. Fingers reach for him, quickly gripping his bruised chin, forcing him to look up into the cold bloodshot eyes momentarily. He can't stop the tears as he is slapped back to the ground before hands grab his hair and pull him towards the darkness.'_

_"Please, sir! Don't put me back there! PLEASE!"_

_'They put him all alone in the dark, and made him stay there…….'_

_"DON'T LEAVE ME IN HERE!" He screams, sobs mixing with blood as he bangs on the locked wooden door. "PLEASE!! I'LL BE A GOOD BOY! PLEASE!!"_

_'…… all alone in the darkness …….'_

Emerald green eyes looked around in shock at the still bedroom. For the briefest of seconds, Harry couldn't remember where he was. The after-effects of the confusing trance left him feeling helpless, just like he felt when he was witnessing the forced events. But after a few moments, he slowly recognized the settings he was in.

Across him, was his room mate's bed, a similar old fashioned wooden model just like his own. The only difference being that that bed frame never seemed to creak whenever it had its owner resting on it. Craning his slender neck, allowed Harry to see the room's shared window that overlooked a huge oak tree, only partially visible thanks to the window's God-awful loosely pulled curtain. He still couldn't help but wonder how much the filthy thing camouflaged as it looked old enough to crumble into little pieces at the slightest of touches. A careful peek in front of him showed him the bedroom's wooden door, that comically looked like someone had intentionally run headfirst into, several unfortunate times. To the far left of the dented door, there was another one. Only this one was in better cosmetic condition and actually looked like it would close without brute force. The room's closet. Or better yet ..... Harry's room mate's closet, who had "kindly" informed him on the first day NOT to mess with.

Much to Harry's relief, so far, everything appeared to be normal in the cramped room. 

He took a glance upwards towards the still present 16 suspiciously deep holes on the high ceiling. The largest of the ceiling blemishes was roughly the size of Harry's head, making the boy ponder if all the dents were from the same person. It wouldn't have surprised him. Not every orphan that arrived at Wool's was sane. Harry figured that his room mate's prior occupant was one of those poor crazed individuals way before he noticed the marks above him. A large crack also was etched into the loose dark bricks that made up Harry's slightly unstable and surprisingly dusty wall. It was as if the hired maid that visited the orphanage every week had never been in the room. 

A smile formed on the boy's young face at the thought. Yes, everything was fine. He could feel the uncomfortable blanket, itchy, and torn that still felt like sandpaper against his back. Or ..... maybe that was just the long johns. Everything was itchy. Hence the name, "Wools." But at the moment, the scratchy sensation was pleasant because it meant that he was back in HIS bedroom, back to having control.

....Yes, everything was fine......

..... Everything except for Harry physically.

The nine-year-old's heart pounded against his chest, making his stomach churn at the sudden pressure. His trembling hands while typically pale, looked …… similar in hue to the ghastly colored curtain …. and ... the ..... long johns .... he currently and almost, unfortunately .... had .... on. 

"You're okay, Harry. Everything's okay." Harry whispered to himself, for once enjoying the silence that surrounded him. "It's all in your head — just a silly little fantasy."

The thought calmed him down enough to allow his body to take its first deep breath since the daymare (daydreams WEREN'T suppose to be horrifying) occurred. Since the child's abrupt arrival at Wool's a week prior, Harry had numerous _"fantasies"_ or _"episodes."_ \- which was what Dr. Connolly referred to them as. 

"You just have, in my professional opinion, an overactive imagination - nothing more." The middle-aged doctor said during his appointment a few days prior. "You will outgrow it in time."

Harry's attempts to get any more advice about his condition just ended with the office door in his face that almost took off his nose. He had been close to barging back in when Missus Cole had pulled the brunette away so that another waiting orphan could have their fifteen-minute session.

"Dr. Connolly's time is precious, Harry. You can ask him more questions next time he visits you."

The matron had said, granting him a small hug before turning her attention to Billy, who was getting ready to get into it with someone. Harry had understood Missus Cole's point of view at the time regarding the Scottish doctor's importance. Doctors, in general, were not the easiest to find. Let alone a professional who agreed to spend a whole afternoon looking at a bunch of unwanted, emotionally distraught orphans. However, the nine-year-old couldn't help but feel that Dr. Connolly only cared about Harry's wellbeing as long as Missus Cole kept his wallet full.

At the time, Harry had questioned just telling the matron how he really felt about Dr. Connolly. But one look as he passed both an oddly quiet Dennis and sulking Billy told him to keep his mouth shut. He had found out later that it would only get worse if he did reveal the truth. How so? He still wasn't sure but decided not to risk it. Both Dennis and Billy had been at Wool's much longer than he had, and if they BOTH agreed that it was best for him NOT to say anything. Well, that was perfectly fine with Harry.

A rather humorous image suddenly rooted itself in the child's brain, which showed all the orphans, evidently terrified sitting at the table, drawing lots, (like in Oliver Twist) over who WAS going to tell Missus Cole the truth. 

"Even if I hadn't offered, I'd be chosen to probably anyway." 

Laughter bubbled up within him as he imagined such a scene. Mostly because even in Harry's imagination, Billy, while trembling like a leaf with the rest of the orphans, looked surprisingly angry. Even in his own little world, the nine-year-old couldn't picture the blonde scared. 

"Yeah, I would be chosen, alright!" He said in between breathless chuckles. The hell with talking with Dr. Connolly, laughter, by far, was really the best medicine! He felt better than he had before the episode! 

"I think I'll read the rest of the book later." 

Harry's hand reached beside him to where the hardcover was previously set ........

"I don't feel much like reading right now anyway."

...... Only for his fingers to touch another part of the scratchy blanket.

"Huh?" 

He reached all around the area, thinking that maybe the book had gotten accidentally flung farther down on the bed, before forcing himself upright. 

"It's not down there either! Where is it? It was just here!" Disbelief echoed in Harry's young voice.

"I JUST had it!"

He scanned both sides of the bed for the lost novel. Eyebrows furrowing together as he quickly stood up, pulling the torn blanket off with him. The pillow soon found its way to the floor also. So much for his good mood.

"Where is that book at?! Dennis will never forgive me if I can't find it."

Where the hell was Oliver Twist? It was just there. 

After running his hand through his messy brown hair in panic numerous times, Harry got the idea to look under the bed.

'Maybe it fell off?' 

Some part of him, for some reason, highly doubted it. 

'It's worth a look.' Harry mused, his fingers pushing his glasses back onto his face before kneeling to look under the bed. 'It won't hurt to check.'

With some effort, the young boy pulled the large dark trunk out that housed his clothes, silently hoping that somehow the hardback was residing behind it. There was indeed something back in the very far corner, but it wasn't a book, but an abnormally large dust bunny that caused Harry to sniffle and sneeze.

"Where could it be?" Harry said in between yet another sneeze. For good measure, Harry even opened the trunk to look instead. He wasn't surprised after throwing his clothes on the bare bed that the book wasn't in the bottom of the chest, either.

"Darn it! That's Dennis's favorite book! What am I going to tell him if I can't find it!?"

His eyes scanned the room before landing on the closet door. There was no way that the book was in there! No way!! Yet something about the space called to him, and before Harry knew it, he was standing directly in front of the door.

"If he comes in, I'll just tell him what happened and what I am doing. I'm sure that he'll understand once I explain." He told himself comfortingly. It wasn't working this time around, especially when the looming threat that any minute his roommate could walk in.

'Then you better hurry up then!' A small direct voice in his head told him as he shakingly turned the doorknob. 'Standing here isn't going to get anything done.'

The voice was right in that regard, and with a renewed sense of determination, Harry allowed the door to swing open, showcasing a rather tiny, cramped space. Against his control, Harry felt the area around him change. His head began to pound at the sudden dizziness that seemed to surround him. 

"Just focus on your breathing! Focus on your breathing!"

_He is trapped all alone in the cramped space. Trembling from his lack of protection from the drafty cold and the never-ending fear that follows his every move. He focuses silently on his breathing, 1….2….3….4; 1….2…3…4; 1…2…."_

"Focus! Focus! Just focus! You are in control! Focus! I am in control! I am not going to do this right now!!" I am in control!!" 

Harry reminded himself, clenching his hands as he forced himself into the closet. He opened his eyes, feeling his heartbeat increase steadily at every movement he made. Harry ignored the panic that seemingly shook his body, instead, focusing on the reason he entered the claustrophobic closet in the first place - to find Dennis's book.

"It's not real! I am in control! I am in control, and I CAN DO THIS!"

_Angry voices echo from outside his prison, giving him the chance to ignore his stomach's rumbling and listen to his fate. He won't cry when his name is brought up. Nor will he pray. Neither method works and just gets his hopes up for a change. He waits._

"….. I …….."

_"That boy needs to go," A woman's shrill and nasal voice said suddenly, waking the soon to be birthday boy from his restless slumber. He never used to be afraid of her, but now he knows better. He's seen what she can do with her venom-filled words and hateful glances._

"….. HAVE …."

_It hurts to breathe. Hurts to cry. Hurts to talk. IT HURTS TO FEEL. He can't breathe! His brain pounds against his forehead, making the walls around him appear to cave in. He can't cry! He CAN'T! Even though he wants too! His determination fails, though, when he remembers how long he's been in the darkness._

"…. TO…."

_He could hear the sound of clinking glass and laughter in the distance. Yet he isn't worthy enough to be a part of the celebration …… or dinner. Even though he cooked it himself, it doesn't matter. He made sure to spit on both the plates and food before serving it._

"…. FIND …."

_"But, I didn't do it!!" He yells at the slammed door. The horrible noise of a latched lock turning his pleas into animalistic wails. 'Please! You have to believe me! It wasn't me! I didn't do it!"_

"….. DENNIS'S….."

_"Why didn't they love him anymore? They use too….., right? He can't remember and decides that it is best not to try. So instead, he counts the spiders as they scurry beside him. It is better to pretend. Better to forget._

"….. STUPID….."

_"Please, sir! Don't put me back there! PLEASE!"_

"…. BOOK!!!! ……"

The noises immediately stopped at his loud outburst, rewarding Harry with much-needed silence. He slowly unclenched his numb hands, choosing to feel the vague area around him before seeing his surroundings. A few more seconds of listening to his heartbeat and swallowing the bile that had risen to his throat, Harry slowly opened his eyes. A tired smile fell across his chapped lips at the recognition that he was currently wholly standing in the bedroom's closet! Pride swelled up within him at the knowledge that the boy was in the cramped, small, suffocating …… He shook his head gently, knowing from experience where those thoughts were headed.

"Not this time." He whispered. "Not this time."

Harry wasn't going to let his fantasies get the best of him, instead choosing to keep the image of a sad Dennis in his mind. A quick observation showed that the closet was strangely empty. Coat hangers hung void of any clothes on a solid metal bar, giving the space an almost …. creepy feel.

"Are you trying to creep yourself out, Harry?! Jeesh! Stop it already!" The brunette exclaimed with a groan, backing up slightly to allow some light in from the bedroom. He was about ready to say something — when something caught his attention.

Hidden far in the closet's back, nearly shadowed by the closet's own darkness, was a medium-sized dark brown box. 

There was something about that box that Harry couldn't put his finger on. 

As ridiculous as it probably sounded, the box appeared to almost call to him, fueling Harry's already immense curiosity. With gentle hands, the nine-year-old leaned down to pull the cover off, immediately noticing numerous assorted sizes within the filled to the brim container.

He brushed aside a striped yoyo, a rusty heart-shaped locket, a bunny stuffed animal that looked like it had been dunked in a puddle at one point and some differently colored marbles. A stack of cards held his interest for a moment before he was drawn to the old and somewhat blurry photographs (one giving him a nasty paper cut) before he felt a familiar hard edge. From his uncomfortable angle, Harry could just barely make out its bright yellow coloring.

_'It couldn't be ….. '_ He thought in shock, his fingers quickly taking out all the other items to get a better look. _'That's completely impossible. There's no way.'_

"There's no way that the book is in here, there's absolutely no way. I mean, how could it have gotten in here in the first place? I am just being .....… that's ….. impossible……how?"

He didn't know-how. But Dennis's book, that Harry had just been previously reading was now sitting by itself in the box. With shaky hands, the brunette grabbed the hardback, confusion, and disbelief drifting around him like the chilly October air. 

"Impossible……" He voiced out loud again, looking at the small book. Mindful not to go past his last read page, Harry flipped through some of the beginning pages. Everything seemed to be the same there. He decided just to be on the safe; he would reread the story — just in case something was different.

Afraid that the book would suddenly disappear again, Harry made sure to set the item on his lap while cleaning up the rest of the discovered objects. He tried not to focus on the strange feelings he swore were coming off the forgotten items as he placed them back in the box. The brunette pushed the brown container back to its prior location before quickly shutting the closet door.

Harry couldn't wrap his mind around the events that had just occurred. The book —- yes! It was still in his hand; thank goodness! ..... was just another strange puzzle that Harry didn't have an answer for. He only hoped that nothing had damaged the pages. The image of a sobbing Dennis played once more in the young boy's head as Harry hopped back onto his once more blanketed bed. 

He hadn't heard anyone come in, but then again, Harry had been stuck in quite a horrifying, rather lengthy fantasy. It was possible that maybe the maid finally got the courage to clean his bedroom. (Probably would also be the last time she came in, as he did not doubt that he was hollering) How else could his bed have been made, and his scattered clothes be picked up? He certainly hadn't done it. 

It was at that moment that Harry's roommate, Tom Riddle, walked into the room. He had a deep scowl on his young face as he took in the sight of Harry, who was hunched over, looking at a book in his lap.

"I'm ready for bed, Harry," The older orphan said suddenly, sitting up on his bed to pull off his shoes and socks. He started unstrapping his suspenders when he realized Harry made no indication that he heard his remark. 

_'Idiotic orphan.'_

"That MEANS you stop reading …… whatever …… the hell you are reading and …….."

"It's called "Oliver Twist."

"What?"

"The book that I'm reading, it's called …… Oliver Twist."

Tom just looked at him, as he quickly flipped back to the cover. 

"Oh, wait! My bad - its ACTUALLY called "The child'sPICTURE story of Oliver Twist." I forgot the first few five words there….. sorry about that, Tom."

"Whatever," Tom started again, determined to keep in control of the situation. Honestly, it was only with Harry that he seemed to struggle at times. He stood up to hopefully intimidate the brunette into obeying him. It worked with everyone else. 

"I don't care what IT'S called. You are going to stop reading it regardless."

"Why would I do that?" Came Harry's curious reply.

'Seriously? Harry couldn't be that dense, right?'

"Because, Harry, you DON'T want to make me mad."

Harry at first said nothing to the threat, much to his roommate's irritation, but then slowly returned to the book that he was, for some reason, so intently reading. 

"Did you NOT hear what I just told you to do?"

"Yes, I heard you," Harry answered, secretly enjoying the look of annoyance that fell across the other boy's face when he did briefly glance back his direction. "The thing is, Missus Cole said that we have until it gets dark before bedtime AND from what I can see outside…… it's still light out. Soooo, I think I'll take my chances."

It was a seriously tempting thought just to beat the arrogance right out of Harry. An intense yet immensely enjoyable desire. However, the image of a bruised up, crying Harry quickly, was pushed to the side. The other boy wasn't worth it.

"You know? This book isn't that bad. I mean, I don't think its the best one ever! But it's not the worst I've read either. You might like it, though, if you gave it a chance."

Tom rolled his eyes before falling back onto his cot with a heavy thud. He didn't know what Harry was playing and didn't care.

"I don't read picture books. They are for babies and, therefore, below me. Now …. Put …. The …. Book …. Away.…"

"That's a shame," Harry replied, shrugging in a bored manner. He pushed his glasses back onto his nose, stifling a small sneeze at the action before looking back down at the book. "This one seems right up your alley." 

From Tom's angle, he could just make out the number 5 at the bottom of the left page. 

_'Seriously?! Page 5? The book is filled mostly with tacky drawings! How can Harry possibly still be on page 5? He was on that page earlier!'_

Tom yelled internally. He could feel the power around him, surging with his anger. The fact that Harry seemed oblivious to his power only fueled the eight-year-old's rage more. Stupid orphan.

_'Not today.'_ He reminded himself, rolling himself onto his other side and slowly counting to ten. _'Stupid Harry isn't worth the energy. Save it for a better time. Save it for a better time.'_

"Hey, Tom." Harry suddenly asked, his fingers pushing his dented glasses back up onto his nose as he looked over at the other orphan with a look of confusion. "What does the word "detest" mean? I heard you say that word earlier."

Tom said nothing for a few seconds, causing Harry to wonder if the older boy heard him. He was about ready to ask the question again when his roommate angrily replied.

"You are rather stupid, aren't you? It means the same as despise."

"…..Ummmmmm, yeah, of course! The same meaning as despise. ….., of course, it has the same meaning. Of course. It does."

Tom couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes at the obvious clueless boy behind him. He forced himself to turn back around with the most moronic mocking expression he could muster, plastered on his face. The eight-year-old figured it was insulting enough because, for the first time that evening, Harry winced. 

"It means "dislike." He said in a sarcastically fake happy voice, making sure to contempt into the word dislike as possible. Of course, his attempt to upset Harry failed, when all of a sudden, the said boy started laughing.

"That's a pretty funny face, Tom!" Harry said in between giggles. I don't think I could beat you after seeing that one. Billy might be able, too, though."

Of course, the insult had gone over Harry's head. Of course, it had! Tom glared at the realization. Harry was too immature to see that he was making fun of him! As for Billy beating him, no one could beat him! Tom Riddle was just better than everyone else at EVERYTHING. He had proven that long ago. A LONG, long time ago.

"So, that's what detest means! It means the same as hate!" Harry said with a smile. "I knew it had to mean something along those lines!"

_'No, you didn't, Harry. You cheeky little liar.'_ Tom mused. Harry seemed so happy about the meaning that the older orphan couldn't help but attempt to pop his bubble with his vast dictionary of knowledge.

"Not exactly…., The word "hate" means immense dislike, while "detest" refers to utter hatred of something or in the most unfortunate of situations, …..someone. "

Harry furrowed his eyebrows at the declaration, apparently understanding the latter part of the sentence was directed towards him.

"Well, I don't detest you, I just don't like you because you are bully."

A pin could be heard as Tom pulled himself back into a seated position. Anger washed over his face before quickly vanishing into the emotionless mask he had adopted years prior. A dark smirk fell across the bigger boy's mouth.

"You have no idea who you are messing with, Harry." He sneered at the boy in front of him. "You are just a stupid little kid that no one wants."

"Well, that wouldn't that make you one too, Tom? I mean, you are also here in Wools without a family."

A sadistic gleam twinkled in Tom's reddish eyes at Harry's cocky remark. He pulled himself to a standing position, eyeing the brunette like he was some prey about to be horrifically mulled. He imaged the boy engulfed in piercing mental pain and was thrilled to see Harry subconsciously close his eyes and wince. However, the older boy's pleasure was short-lived when the younger orphan just shook his head, quickly stopping the effect and once more return to reading his book.

The fact that Harry was able to stop Tom's "gentle" mental reminders was terrible, but by far not the worst thing at the current moment. No, that most certainly wasn't the worst thing! The worse thing was the fact that Harry was just now on page 7!

The eight-year-old could feel his power radiating around the room. He closed his eyes and willed all of it to circle around Harry. Coating his unsuspecting fragile body in its violent shades of green.

"Ooh! That hurt."

Had it worked? Had he actually done something to cause Harry recognizable pain? The older child opened his eyes slightly, almost praying. ALMOST. His vision focused on the sight of the brunette momentarily staring at one of his fingers ……, which was bleeding slightly.

"Not again! Darn paper cut!" He yelled, completely missing Tom's look of disbelief. 

'What?'

"The heck is wrong with you?" Tom almost shouted as the nine-year-old stuck the bleeding finger in his mouth. 

"What? I didn't want to bleed all over Dennis's book, Tom. That would be rude. Could you imagine Dennis's face?" 

"No! That's not what I am referring too. How are you able to…..? Why are you able too…….? Grrr! What the HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Harry just shrugged, starting to turn another page when Tom quickly stood up and grabbed the children's book, and threw it roughly at the closed bedroom door. 

"Hey! I was still reading that!!!" Harry yelled. He quickly attempted to defiantly stand, only to be pushed roughly back on the bed. 

"I don't care! You ARE DONE reading!"

Tom took a deep breath, enjoying the shocked look that spread across Harry's face. 

"You don't seem to be getting the point ….. Harry." He started, bending over, so he was nose to nose with his silent roommate. "I make the rules here and YOUR job ….. is …. to … do ….what ….I … say."

For a few seconds, The older boy thought that maybe Harry had finally gotten the message. However, his hope quickly died when Harry pushed himself right back up into his face.

"I DON'T have to listen to YOU, Tom!" Harry yelled. His emerald green eyes glared at his room mate with such increasing intensity that they subconsciously made the bigger orphan take a step back. "YOU AREN'T THE BOSS OF ME! If …. YOU … are SO TIRED ….. THEN JUST GO TO BED!"

The younger boy then grabbed Tom's wrist, tapping the fancy "gifted" watch that clung to it. "If you refuse to look outside! Fine! But look at your watch! It's STILL BRIGHT out! It gets dark around 7, and your watch is saying its 6:50! I still have 10 minutes before bedtime Tom, AND I am going to use them to DO WHAT I WANT!! Whether you like IT OR NOT!"

Harry then again stood up, only this time he was pushed back down on the edge of his bed by a flabbergasted Tom ….. but this time, the nine-year-old swore that he never saw Tom's clenched hands leave their sides. Rage billowed around the older orphan. No one had the guts to tell Tom Riddle no! No one! 

"You will go to bed, Harry. You should know that bad things always happen to people that don't listen to me." Tom said smugly.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was a threat, Harry, however, wasn't fazed by the remark. It was pretty clear that the brunette wasn't afraid of the older orphan. Harry himself wasn't exactly sure why. But Tom Riddle just reminded him strangely enough of a bully from his forgotten past, and that only sparked his rebellious nature, NOT his fear.

"Yeah, like apparently not getting to page 15." Harry sarcastically replied, internally amused when Tom opened his mouth in shock before promptly closing it.

Once again, Tom felt adrenaline racing through his veins as his body entered fight mode. The familiar image of Harry bruised and broken formed in his mind. This time though, Tom didn't have the control to stop its influences. The moment of small embarrassment was gone, and in its place was a scary determination.

"Tom?"

At the mention of his name, Tom allowed Harry to see another one of his menacing grins before tackling the unsuspecting nine-year-old, knocking both of them onto Harry's mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please REVIEW!!!
> 
> Your feedback helps motivate me, a procrastinating author, to write more! 
> 
> Thank you so very much for your patience and continuous support!


	2. "Beds Are Burning"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom Riddle needs a beating, but he’s more content with giving it to Harry, in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Che-Butter! 
> 
> Here's the revised chapter two of "The Doorway" which was published back a few months ago. Like the original chapter, it is dark in nature and may not be suitable material for every reader. :)
> 
> I have decided to go ahead and name every chapter after a song, hence the title change of Chapter One. I also learned how to use a calculator and realized that I accidentally swapped Harry & Tom's ages. So I went ahead and edited that in the prior chapter as well. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys reading! 
> 
> PLEASE send me a REVIEW if you do! 
> 
> Thank you!! :)

_"The time has come,_

_A fact's a fact,_

_It belongs to them,_

_Let's give it back._

_" How can we dance,_

_When our Earth is turning?_

_How do we sleep,_

_While our beds are burning?"_

_\- Beds Are Burning_

_Midnight Oil (1987)_

=======================

_'He's falling. That much he can gather. Falling onto the cold, leafy ground with a woman shrieking behind him. Her fingers are clutched tightly around his little body, yet he can't gather the words to tell her that it hurts._

_He's falling, and the woman behind him is crying. Sobbing. Wailing. Speaking to the animal before her that moves slightly. He can't see very well as now he's crying. Reaching, pleading, hoping._

_It's cold as she holds him to her chest, saying things mixed with her sobs. She's warm. So warm. So safe and warm that he closes his eyes to the sounds of her rapid heartbeat and heavy breathing…_

_…..The sound of heavy breathing……._

_……the sound of rapidly beating heart pounding against a Human's chest……_

............ At first, Harry wasn't quite sure where he was or if he was even conscious, which was perfectly normal after having an episode. However, as his mind recognized more of his settings, he found that the looming glaring face that stared above him was not normal. Nor was it comforting.

Tom Riddle sat atop Harry's small figure, eyeing his captive's every moment with anticipation. The nine-year old's first reaction to seeing such a hungry look in his roommate (that's right, Tom was his roommate) was to hold his breath and close his eyes. After all, that's what he heard, normal kids with loving parents do to make monsters go away.

However, just like all the other times, he attempted the trick; he found that the monster, which in this case was Tom, had not vanished. Instead, he was still looking down at him with a look that sent shivers down Harry's spine. It didn't help when the eight-year-old started laughing. A cold, low demented sounding laugh that seemed to bounce off the walls.

_'Great. Just great.'_ The boy mused internally, exhaling his still held breath and slowly squirming out from under Tom. _'Out of the frying pan and into the fire? Wait ……… why does that sound so familiar?_

"What's wrong, Harry? Where's your cocky attitude now?!" Tom teased cruelly; he could feel Harry's emotion wavering off of his figure. A delicious combination of anger, confusion, and interestingly enough determination.

"Don't inform me all that was just talk! Because if it was, I truly have exaggerated your worth. Something I will not think kindly off."

Even though Tom smiled at the boy's slight struggles underneath him, he noticed that the nine-year-old appeared almost docile compared to what Tom had seen initially. Harry had most certainly been in the moment before Tom had launched both of them on the mattress. But now? Now, the brunette was acting off. His movements were slow and rather drug-like.

_'Maybe this will indeed be easier than I excepted.'_ Tom found himself thinking, observing the strange display before him. _'Maybe all the brat needed was a physical reminder? A reminder of who is truly in charge? Similar to a rebellious beta in the animal kingdom?'_

A closer look at Harry, though, made Tom rethink his theory. Harry appeared to be staring off in space, occasionally gazing at him and pushing his hands against his body. He also seemed focused on looking around the room as if,….. as if …… he kept forgetting where he was.

_'Peculiar. How curiously peculiar. I wonder ……..'_

The eight-year-old wasted no time touching Harry's cheeks, noticing under close observation that while they were flushed, they also were soft, similar in sensation to a peach's outer layer. A glance at the boy's chest showed that it repeatedly raised and lowered in slow succession.

_'So he isn't dead. Which is both unfortunate and fortunate.'_

Missus Cole had stated that when Harry arrived that his birthday was September … September … something, …… making the messy-haired brunette older slightly then Tom. Yet Harry appeared the same size and structure as the annoyingly hyper Dennis. Then again, malnourishment and abuse were nothing uncommon to Wools.

However, it was strangely unnerving and slightly uncomfortable to sit atop the orphan's thin waist and be able to BOTH feel and count with ease, every bone in the nine-year old's rib cage. Regardless of the realization, though, Tom did not move from his positioning. He was in a critical advantage point in case whatever the hell was going on with Harry suddenly ceased. And it would cease, even if Tom had to enter his idiotic room mate's mind to figure out the issue.

The action wouldn't be done out of kindness either, far from it. No, Tom Riddle had enough suspicion around his mysterious and secretly passive-aggressive personality. He did not need ANOTHER brain dead roommate to attempt to lead the trail back to him. His fault unintentionally or not. The last thing he needed was MORE visits with that con man, "Dr" Connolly.

Suddenly, Harry's struggles turned frantic. His body twisting to get out from underneath Tom so much that the eight-year-old had to sink his fingers into the ratty blanket for leverage. A smile formed on his face at the action, enjoying the plastered look of rage that covered Harry's face.

"What the heck Tom?! ……. Get off of me!!!" Harry growled, eyebrows furrowing together as he gave his captor the most intimidating glare he could muster.

"Welcome back, Harry." Tom began pleasantly. The only issue was that the words held no welcoming tone; instead, each letter seemed laced with venom. 

"I would say that you've been missed, but … well, we both know that that would be a lie.…"

"Yes, and "God knows" that YOU CAN'T do that." The nine-year-old spat.

Harry winced when Tom's fingers found themselves clawing into his captured arm. It wasn't enough to draw blood but had enough force to most likely leave an ugly bruise.

"Do attempt to watch your attitude Harry, or this will be the least of your problems."

"Sure! I'll make a note of that when YOU LET ME UP!"

Tom just smirked, immensely enjoying Harry's game of keep-away with his only free hand. While it once was dead set on beaming Tom in the face like it's predecessor, now its primary goal was to keep out of the eight-year old's clutches. The orphan almost felt sad when it was finally caught and forced under his unoccupied left knee.

"What ARE YOU DOING?! STOP! LET ….. ME …. GO!" The brunette yelled, tossing his head back in forth, sending his brown hair in every direction. The blankets underneath him crumbled under his struggles as his fingers clawed out in every accessible direction.

"I told you, Harry.." Tom said quietly, gently pulling the lopsided glasses off of his victim's face. Which only furthered the nine-year old's thrashing. Perhaps in a pathetic attempt to stall his roommate from snatching the only advantage the boy had.

"HEY!! Give them back!! What are you….? GRRR! Give THEM back!! STOP!! NO!!"

….. that bad things always happen to people that don't listen to me."

"WELL, …. maybe if YOU weren't SUCH … a … JERK!!,…… People WOULD!!"

Tom's smile never faltered. He forced his knees deeper into Harry's elbows, satisfied when his roommate let out a painful yelp before momentarily ceasing his struggles. The bigger boy took the time to observe the unsightly circular spectacles with an unmistakable look of disgust.

"These ridiculous things are important to you…. Aren't they? Without them, …… goodness! I CAN'T IMAGINE what horrors you would have to face!"

Harry said nothing, his small tired body struggling for breath after all its panicked movements. Noticeable horror was reflected in the boy's green eyes. Tom twirled the large glasses in the air, barely holding onto the wireframes.

"Please be careful, Tom!" The brunette said in between pants. He forced his body to return to struggling at the smug look plastered on Riddle's face. "You are well aware that I can't see without them!"

"Oh, yes. I am well aware of their significance to you, Harry. WELL aware."

"If you know that, THEN PLEASE give them back to me! I NEED them, Tom."

A pin could have been heard dropping as Tom appeared to be mulling something over mentally.

Harry's green eyes met Tom's brown ones. The nine-year old's held no fear or surprisingly anger in them, just a strange and somewhat remarkable sense of unyielding determination.

"Please, Tom. Please give them back."

The younger orphan feigned a thoughtful look on his face as if he was still deep in thought. To anyone else, it would have been dubbed innocent and cute. But to Harry, the look was like a dagger being pushed into his side. Because Harry knew Tom, and that look never meant anything good.

"Hmmm, I guess I could, couldn't I?"

Tom's tone was once more sickeningly sweet as a taunting smirk suddenly formed on his childish features. His brown eyes appeared almost red in hue briefly in the darkening room.

"No, Harry, I don't think I will give them back." He said with a smile, showing Harry a mouth full of perfectly straight, pearly white teeth before deliberately bending the wireframes.

"I think …… maybe I'll keep them. A new souvenir to add to my collection."

"Like HELL, you will!! GIVE THEM BACK TOM! THEY ARE MINNMMMPHMM!!!!"

"Do shut up, Harry! I am growing tired of your pathetic demands." Tom hissed, covering Harry's mouth with one of his hands. The eight-year-old just smirked at the boy's furious expression and muffled yells coming from under his hand.

"Yes, They were ONCE yours Harry, but now they are MINE …"

Harry just screamed something illegible, most likely a curse or two at being silenced, before renewing his thrashings. His long legs kicked out in every which away in a determined yet futile attempt to get his attacker off him. Tom's only response was to put more pressure on his hostage's mouth. One to keep himself sturdy and two so that Harry wouldn't have enough space to bite.

"…. MINE to do WHAT I WANT with……."

"Whether I want to keep them completely intact or …….."

Another mortified scream echoed underneath Tom's hand as his fingers once more squeezed the spectacles. He was so busy enjoying the satisfying sound of Harry's panic that he did not notice, one of his prisoner's arms slowly starts to squirm out of its restraint.

"Do they mean that much to you, Harry?" The eight-year-old jeered. "If that's the case, maybe I WON'T break them …….. of course, you will have to do something for ME FIRST."

Tom just observed the whole mental conflict in Harry's head with amusement. Harry, feeling a headache coming on, just resorted to glaring at the younger boy with as much dislike as he could muster. Which he assumed probably wasn't much since Tom's smirk only grew more extensive at the display.

"How about it? HMMM? What about this, Harry? This is so SIMPLE that even an insignificant, moronic orphan like you should be able to do it..…" Tom started, looking briefly at his nails before turning back to look at his prisoner.

…….. I won't harbor any intent to break your glasses. IF! You admit to FOLLOW MY RULES and APOLOGIZE for your unruly, despicable behavior. Seems like more than a fair deal, Harry. What do you say? Think you can do that?"

Who the hell did Tom think he was? They were Harry's glasses! HIS glasses! So he could see! While dented, the spectacles were the only thing other than the soaking wet rags that he was found in. They were special! Not only for the reason that Harry was pretty much blind as a bat BUT because they were one of the only clues that the nine-year-old had of his forgotten life.

"What's wrong? Don't you have anything to say? I thought THESE ……" Tom began, waving the glasses in front of Harry's face like they were a trophy. "…. were IMPORTANT to you. Could I have been wrong?"

Harry took a deep breath, counted to 10, and forced himself to remain calm. He wasn't going to give Tom the satisfaction of him getting upset. He wasn't sorry for anything! BUT the nine-year-old really did want his glasses back. Dennis once told him he was a decent actor. If there were any time to test the theory, it would be now. At the thought, Harry slowly shook his head.

"I didn't think I was……"

Fingers once again reached out, cupping Harry's chin, forcing the brunette to lift his head ever so slightly at the invasive touch.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Tom Riddle's face was now mere centimeters from his own. Under closer observation, Harry could easily see why Missus Cole and pretty much any adult who passed the eight-year-old blushed so ferociously. Even without his glasses, Harry could see that Tom was absolutely breathtaking. He had delicate facial features and high cheekbones. His pale, almost white complexion, made Harry instantaneously think of a porcelain doll.

Long black eyelashes, mirrored the color of the boy's short yet curly hair and framed brown eyes that in different lightings looked darker or lighter in a natural hue. Honestly, if Harry didn't know Tom, he would have thought that the orphan was an angel sent from Heaven. The boy was just that beautiful. Physical beauty, however, wasn't everything, and for Tom, that was where HIS beauty ended.

"Well? Are you going to agree to MY terms or not? Because if you aren't…… well then….. I will assume that you don't desire these ratty things and …… just ……. get rid of them!" The eight-year-old abruptly said, making the motion to throw the glasses when Harry's panicked cry echoed in his eardrums.

"MMMPHHHH!"

"Well, GO ON THEN and nod to acknowledge my demands! You are wasting MY PRECIOUS TIME."

"MMPH."

_'Sure, whatever! Just please don't throw my glasses. Please don't throw my glasses. Please, oh please God, don't let him throw my glasses!'_

High maniacal sounding laughter rang in Harry's head and outside of it immediately after he nodded slightly. Harry didn't pay it any heed. His green eyes instead focused on his captor, hoping that he looked at least somewhat convincingly apologetic.

"Good boy….." Tom quietly stated, his hand gently patting Harry's unkempt brown hair as a reward, enjoying the defeated expression that was portrayed on the child's face.

"…..But it's not really an apology if one does not say it, is it?"

It was an odd and strangely foreign feeling having someone gently touch him. His episodes were usually painstakingly violent and dark, fueling him with the familiar yet hidden emotions of fear and anxiety. This feeling was different. It surged through him like warm water, filling him up with a light, airy comfort. A strange but increasingly welcomed sensation that caused Harry to close his green eyes in surreal contentment.

"I am going to take my hand away now, Harry," Tom said, very slowly. "If you scream or do anything other than apologize, this feeling ..... that you are currently feeling will turn nasty rather quickly. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded again, not wholly realizing Tom's hand was off of his mouth and entangled in his hair; until the eight-year-old spoke once more. His voice still low and calming.

"That's better. See Harry? You listen to what I say, and bad things won't happen. Just obey my every order, and you get rewarded. Now I want you to say these words, okay?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want you to say …. I am sorry for being ……"

"I am sorry for being ……."

Tom's fingers carefully brushed some of the boy's long brown bangs away from his eyes. Harry, as predicted, made no move to stop the more significant orphan's touch. He leaned into Tom's gentle tracing of the strange scar on his left part of his forehead.

_'Such a peculiar mark.'_

"An annoying brat ……"

"An annoying brat …….."

"and I promise ………."

"and I promise ………."

Tom found himself smirking at the obedient mimicking. Why hadn't Tom tried using this tactic earlier? The larger orphan's hands brushed once more against his roommate's scar. He wasn't being as gentle now. There was no need.

"To do whatever Tom requires of me; because he is MY SUPERIOR and therefore, OWNS me."

The eight-year-old could barely contain his excitement as he pictured Harry just like all the other orphans. Pathetic, submissive, docile, and, most importantly, in his place.

"To do whatever Tom ….. _forbids_ me to do; because he a …… _bully_ and ….. NOT worth my time …"

It was at that moment that Tom found himself looking down at Harry, who smirked and wiggled both his somehow freed hands, before pushing his startled roommate onto the cold floor.

"You stupid orphan!!" Tom screamed, grabbing and pulling Harry's leg, so that the boy and his weapon of choice, and assaulting pillow, fell to the ground beside him. "You STUPID, STUPID ORPHAN!!"

Harry didn't even feel the pain as he faceplanted with the tiles. His only thought was that he had to get away. The nine-year-old forced himself into a crawling position after giving Tom a few more hard hits with the pillow, using the large amount of floating feathers as a cover.

"COME BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

The brunette was already mentally patting himself on the back for a successful escape when he became tackled under Tom's weight. He could hear his spine crack loudly at the sudden impact, which kept him uncomfortably stuck stomach first onto the floor.

"ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS LISTEN!!"

I'LL NEVER LISTEN TO YOU!" Harry hollered, his fingers clawing blindly at the boy behind him. He let out a squeal of pain when Tom bit down hard on one of them when the brunette's nails successfully scratched the younger orphan's cheek. Tom was about ready to laugh one when one of Harry's hands grabbed usually neatly parted hair and yanked with such force that Tom lost his position and crashed back down to the floor.

The nine-year-old didn't waste precious time and forced himself upright, running as fast as possible towards the direction of the door. To his immediate relief, the door's frame was slowly becoming less blurry the closer he got. Harry was just a hand reach away when Tom suddenly laughed.

"OH, HARRY!" Tom called out in a sickly sweet voice that sent another cold chill down Harry's spine. "YOU FORGOT ABOUT THESE!!!"

_‘He wouldn’t! O,h God! Please don’t tell me ………’_

Slowly turning around, Harry’s worst fears were confirmed because there in Tom’s hands were his glasses. The eight-year-old smiled menacingly, making sure that Harry saw the blurry object in his possession.

"NOO!! STOP TOM! DON’T!”

The only answer Harry received was a full smile before Tom squeezed the object with all his might. The brunette closed his eyes, waiting for the loud crunch that indicated that the glass had finally shattered. Only for it to never come. Almost against his control, Harry slowly opened his eyes to see Tom clearly as confused as he was. But why?

Harry wasn’t at first quite sure and took to watching the eight-year-old’s almost panicked hand opening with shared confusion. That was until Harry realized that he could see Tom Riddle CLEARLY.

PERFECTLY CLEARLY.

He couldn't explain how he had his glasses back, but Harry did, and for the briefest of moments, Harry wish he hadn't.

What the brunette was currently seeing was beyond any episode he could ever create. The closet door & window opened and closed repeatedly. The electricity in the room flickered, and both of the wooden beds suddenly were hovering in mid-air. While all those things were terrifying, none were scarier than the look on Tom's face.

There wasn't a sneer or smirk o,r honestly, any sort of emotion on it. The only giveaway of the immense fury that was carefully contained under the handsome marble mask was the eight-year old's brown eyes, which glimmered with unspoken hatred.

"….. HHHAAARRRRRYYYY ….."

Sweat poured down the brunette's face as he fumbled with the bedroom's door doorknob. No matter how hard he twisted, the darn thing wouldn't open, and Tom Riddle was now slowly walking towards him. Still no emotion on his young face.

"…….. OH HHHAAARRRRYYYY….."

The eight-year-old was so close, as well as the beds that seemed to follow his every step. Fear found its way through Harry's body at a sudden thought. Tom wouldn't…….. kill him …. would he? That would be too far even for Riddle ……….. Right?

… Right?

… RIGHT?!

Harry's question was instantly answered when suddenly both of the approaching beds caught on fire. Huge flames began eating at the wooden frames, quickly incinerating the bottom boards and reaching outwards with fiery tongues. It was amazing that Tom was not engulfed with how big the flames were.

"………. HHHAAARRRRRYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!"

The nine-year-old highly doubted that he would be as lucky if the burning beds got too close to him. It obviously made no difference though to Tom. He continued to walk towards Harry before suddenly stopping a mere few feet away.

"You think you are so clever……. don't you, Harry?" The younger orphan, the floating beds suddenly rotating until they angled themselves diagonally at the horrified brunette.

“…..Well, let's just see if you can avoid this."

With that statement, Tom Riddle lifted a little finger and sent everything hurling at Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, PLEASE REVIEW!!!
> 
> Your feedback helps to motivate me, a procrastinating author, to write more!
> 
> Thank you so very much for your patience and continuous support!


	3. "Hearing Damage"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange events continuously shake Wools during the Orphanage's normal bedtime routine, leaving Missus Cole to try to piece together the reasons. Some puzzles though are better left unsolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> It's me again!! After receiving a bunch of kudos and a very uplifting comment from ergisa, I went ahead and decided to write another chapter! This one was based on a rather humorous comment that I recieved in May from libraryrocker! Thanks for the inspiration! :)
> 
> As always, if you've enjoyed reading please let me know! 
> 
> Feedback (especially REVIEWS) are always appreciated! 
> 
> Thanks again and happy readings!! :)

_ "A tear in my brain, _

_ Allows the voices in, _

_ they wanna push you off the path, _

_ With their frequency wires, _

_ And you can do no wrong, _

_ In my eyes, _

_ In my eyes, _

_ You can do no wrong, _

_ In my eyes, _

_ In my eyes." _

_ \- Hearing Damage _

_ Thom Yorke (2009) _

==============

Miss Patrica Cole was a rigorous woman, that wasn't to say that she was unkind to all the children in her care. No, Patrica was very attentive, understanding, and empathetic to each and every one of the kids that came to Wools. Making it her life's purpose to help them cope with the traumatic experience of being forced to reside in an orphanage. It wasn't always easy. But seeing a child in her care getting adopted made all the hard work worth it in the end.

The woman was making her rounds in the girl's section of the building, every so often glancing at her watch before knocking and slowly opening each of the wooden doors. As with every night, Patrica would wait a few seconds, peering into the normally quiet area with the intent of checking on the usually already snoozing children, before breathing a sigh of relief mentally, turning off the light and moving on to the next room.

Tonight was no different.

Her Maryjanes clicked softly against the flooring as she found herself looking at the last door on the right. She stood in front of it, hoping that she wouldn't find a certain someone inside with another certain someone as she did a few nights back. The woman had almost fainted when she opened frail Amy Benson's door and discovered, none other than Harry sitting beside her.

The boy had not meant any harm, instead admitting rather foolishly that he had little memory of how or why he was in Amy's room, to begin with. When prompted for more information, the nine-year-old had just said he had heard crying, and then suddenly, without warning, he was sitting beside the sleeping Amy. 

Harry had not received a punishment, mostly because Missus Cole believed him. Not the part about suddenly appearing in Amy's room. But both the parts about hearing Amy crying and Harry's lack of memory. The brunette, while peculiar, was not a wicked child that sought negative attention. 

If anything, Harry was a pleasant change, and while the action was inappropriate, Patrica felt that the gesture was sweet somehow. Especially since Amy was unfortunately avoided by the majority of the other orphans due to her blindness and constant wailing. 

Two soft knocks, followed by a brief second of silence, gave the woman the motivation to open the door. Just as excepted, Amy was sitting on the floor, staring with non-seeing eyes in the matron's direction. 

"Amy, sweetie. It's time for bed." The woman coaxed, slowly approaching the red-haired girl. Amy only sighed softly at the words and the touch of Missus's Cole's hand resting on her back. 

"Yes, ma'am." She answered—her high voice cracking with the last word. 

The frail child reached her hand out, shaking fingers clasping the matron's as the two carefully stood together and walked over to the bed. Anyone who knew Amy before her blindness, witnessing her slight shuffling and continuous stumbling feet, was enough to bring the person to tears. The 6-year-old wasn't always blind, nor was she always an outcast.

Partica remembered the first time she met Amy. A small thin girl that looked more in resemblance to a two-year-old than a soon to be four-year-old. Her hair had been long then, a fiery red that Missus Cole had secretly admired. The woman had always loved red hair and, as a young child, hoped that as she grew, the blonde locks that she had been born with would miraculously turn to such a shade. Of course, the silly childlike wish had not come true. The matron's hair was still blonde, only now gray hairs had started to work their way into her bun. Thanks to the many years of owning Wools.

It was a rewarding experience, especially when dealing with little Amy Benson, who was by far not a difficult child.  The lack of knowledge, that Amy's birth mother was a whore, and her birth father wanted nothing to do with their daughter was beyond the girl's undeveloped mind, which made her a rather happy and appreciative child. 

Patrica would spend hours playing with the overjoyed girl's long hair. Styling it in numerous different styles. Sometimes in a single braid. Sometimes in pigtails. Sometimes the woman would just brush the long locks and leave the long waves that reached the child's lower back down. Those were happy times for both Missus Cole and Amy.

But now, 

Now, 

Amy was older and, while still not the oldest of the children, knew more than she did when she had first arrived at Wools. The bed creaked as the girl allowed herself to sit and then lay down, permitting aged fingers to gently cover her figure with her only blanket. 

"Missus Cole," The girl asked as plump lips touched her forehead. For a moment, the matron wondered why Amy wasn't continuing her sentence, the memory of the girl's blindness completely evading her. When Amy spoke the woman's name again, the knowledge once again hit the adult, that the six-year-old's sight was forever gone.

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you think my Mommy will be back soon?"

How do you answer such a question? 

In all her time working at the Orphanage, Patrica still couldn't find a suitable or fair answer, to respond to such a heart-wrenching question. There was no reply that she could give to ANY of the orphans that had asked, that unfortunately wouldn't utterly destroy them. Amy was no exception.

How could Missus Cole explain that the young lady who adopted her and promised to love her, dropped the unknowing Amy back off at Wool's after she became completely blind? How could she tell the six-year-old that her  _ "mother"  _ wanted nothing to do with her now that she was  _ "retarded" _ ? 

"Missus Cole?"

You can't.

"You never know, Amy. God works in mysterious ways."

A pang of guilt wormed its way to Patrica's heart as she saw the look of hope that fell across Amy's face. A smile, the first smile that Missus Cole had seen in a while, formed at the words.

"Thank you, Missus Cole! Maybe if I pray hard enough again tonight, Mommy will come back even sooner! Goodnight, Ma'am!"

The matron rubbed her moist eyes at the exclamation. She would tell Amy the truth to the girl in a few years. As she glanced at the tucked-in child, her plan was confirmed when she realized that the only thing keeping the six-year-old's spirits up was her hope. 

"Goodnight, Amy."

With one last look at the silent redhead who was mouthing the words to her prayer, Missus Cole walked out of the room. As always, leaving the light switch on in-case, Amy had more nightmares. She gently pulled the door until it rested in its frame with a click, before turning back down the narrow hallway and heading towards the steps that would lead her to the boy's section.

Patrica wasn't exactly keen on the idea that the boys were placed on the second floor, but while the action was initially temporary, it quickly became permeant when more male children showed up. 

For some idiotic reason, the developers made the bedrooms on the second floor slightly more extensive than those on the first, giving the ever-expanding male population first dibs. The woman did not like the setup, though, but was forced to accept it as fact for the time.

Time?

How many years had it been since she first arrived at the main entrance, hoping and practically begging to secure a job? 10? 15? 20? 

Honestly, Missus Cole wasn't sure. Dates both past and present seemed to blur together, causing occasional disarray between herself and her fellow employees—some of the workers closer in physical age then mental appearance. One would not believe that Missus Cole was close to her early 30's. She looked very little like her school-aged peers anymore. Wools Orphanage had aged the woman's complexion drastically in the 10 years (that's right!!) that she had been its matron. 

Heavy dark bags had formed under her once vibrant blue eyes, now the color was reduced to a dullish gray, which at least in hindsight matched her hair. A passer could easily in the proper lighting see where the adult had, unfortunately, crow's feet, another side effect of working in such a stressful environment for so long. 

The woman never once denied that the job was full of pressure. But she could not imagine herself leaving to work elsewhere. She loved Wool's. Loved the kids—even the ones who didn't return her affections.

Patrica's heels had just landed on the final rickety step when something collided with her upper leg. She stifled a deep sigh at the action as the child holding onto her only tightened his firm grip when she attempted to regain her balance.

"Whatever is the matter, Dennis?" She began, careful to keep the slight amount of frustration out of her concerned tone. Nothing could ever be easy, could it?

"Oh, ma'am!! It's Billy!! He's…… he's…. he's acting strange, ma'am!"

"How so?" 

Dennis pried himself off the matron at the question, staring up at her with big blue eyes before shaking his head, tossing his dark brown hair every which away. His bottom lip trembled slightly as he suddenly grabbed Patrica's hand, pulling her gently towards …… whatever was the issue.

They quickly passed the first two doors in the claustrophobic hallway. To the matron's confusion, the area seemed to rattle with every step she briskly took. She had little time to contemplate the strange occurrence before Dennis led her into his room, where she instantly noticed a trembling side view of Billy Stubbs. A white shirt laid behind him on the still made bed, yet the child seemed to not pay it any heed. Dennis's roommate seemed more focused on rocking back and forth ever so slightly, his hands clutching something firmly in his hunched over form.

The woman was about to ask what had happened when her eyes took in the numerous scattered clothes that were all over the flooring. Much to her disbelief, some of the garments appeared to be half hanging off Dennis's bed. From her distance, Patrica quickly discovered that the garments looked much too big to correctly fit the small petite figure of the trembling seven-year-old beside her and far too small to fit a boy as big as Billy.

She opened her mouth to ask where all the outfits came from. They looked to be a fellow orphan's whole hand me down wardrobe! But before the woman formed even a single syllable, the tiny blue-eyed boy spoke up first, seemingly reading the adult's confused mind.

"They just appeared, ma'am," the boy began, his fingers tightening around the woman's as he slowly backed behind her tall figure. "Just out of thin air. Then Billy went over to the one shirt, …. that one there on, …. on the bed and he started digging through the pockets and then … he …just started doing …. doing that missus."

Careful not to step on the tattered clothes that remained scattered on the ground. Missus Cole slowly made her way over to the petrified blonde. To no surprise, Dennis Bishop stayed behind, clutching the open door's frame as if it were the last thing to protect him. The matron could just make out the brunette's whispered words of caution as her hand gently touched Billy's shoulder. She hoped that the action would be comforting for the scared eleven-year-old and to would also help calm her own nerves.

"Billy? Honey? Whatever is ……the ……,"

Her words fell on deaf ears when Billy's sweating hands slowly unclenched, revealing a small yet vital bone. It seemed that time had stopped as her eyes narrowed then widened at the sight of the cleaned object. Patrica felt a chill go through her body as she recalled what the bone was a reminder of. Missus Cole had not forgotten, and Billy, who had not once stopped his traumatized movement, obviously hadn't either. 

"Billy, hand me that."

Missus Cole winced when her voice came out, sounding more frightened than she initially intended. The eleven-year-old had just started to comply when all of a sudden, a blood-curdling scream echoed outside the room, causing all three of the room's occupants to jump in surprise.

Unlike the two orphans, The adult could not hide or be consumed by apparent fear. Nearly running into the shaking Dennis, who had not left his standing position in the entryway, the woman raced out of the bedroom towards the sound. 

The axis bone would just have to wait.

Her heels clicked loudly as she passed children coming out of their rooms to figure out where the noise came from. The younger boys seemed terrified, but the older ones appeared intrigued and seemingly enjoyed trying to uncover the yell's origin.

"Maybe it was a ghost?" One older adolescent said, a smirk threatening to spill over his face as his roommate gripped his teddy bear tighter against his chest.

"I don't believe in ghosts." The smaller boy answered—a blatant lie.

"It sounded like it came from  _ "you know who's" _ bedroom," A redhead said as he huddled against the wall with his friends. His friends all shook their heads in response before they muttered something illegibly.

"Back to bed! All of you!" The woman snapped as she overheard some more of the curious words. Some long strands of her hair fell out of her ordinarily neat bun. "Everything is perfectly fine. Go back to bed."

Some of the orphans listened to her, others just figured that this unexpected yet exciting event was worth their later punishments for disobedience. Of course, their bravery was short-lived when another scream was heard in the hallway. It wasn't a fun, freaky one-time occurrence anymore. Nor was it a mystery.

All the older orphans and Missus Cole, who had a prior inkling, knew exactly now where the sound was coming from...

....Tom Riddle's and his unfortunate roommate, Harry's room.

There was no knock when Patrica reached the dented door, only the sound of a turning doorknob, followed by unnerving silence.

She was not prepared for the sight she walked into.

Tom was in the middle of the room, pale as a ghost as he took in the matron's shocked expression. To the sides of him, were two large heaps of strangely burnt beams and other assorted pieces. It didn't take a genius to understand that the woman was looking at the remains of the wooden beds. If she squinted, she could make out the charred top part of one of the former headboards.

"Tom."

"Yes, Missus Cole?"

At Tom's emotionless reply, the open, curtainless window lost its stick and closed with a thud, spurring Patrica's heart to race. If the abruptly loud sound surprised Tom, he made no indicated movement.

"What happened here?" 

"I don't quite understand what you mean, madam." The eight-year-old answered sweetly, a curious look replacing his expressionless gaze. 

Patrica refused to look at the calm boy, instead walked cautiously into the room, every so often looking around. 

The walls and ceiling looked dented, but Missus Cole had to remind herself that that was always the case when it came to the eight-year-old's room. The overall room's structure appeared fine other than the wreckage. The closet door was wide open, its insides bare, but like every other area appeared to be completely fine. The adult's eyes narrowed at the empty display, her earlier suspicions in Dennis's bedroom confirmed.

At the realization, blue eyes observed the orphan standing before her. He said nothing as she noted his somewhat disheveled appearance. The boy's dark hair looked nearly as messy as his once properly ironed shirt! Some scuff marks lined the knees of his pants. Nothing a little laundry wouldn't take care of but weird considering Tom's practically "no-touch" personality. There was also a small cut on his right cheek. It was not deep enough to cause Patrica to panic, but enough to seriously make her ponder what all happened.

"You know exactly what I mean, Tom!" The adult retorted, fury filling her at the sight of the somehow still unfazed boy. Her finger accusingly pointing to him and then to the rubble that laid on both Tom's sides.

"How did THIS happen?"

It was like a sudden switch turned on in the dark-haired boy. His eyes widened in extreme disbelief and horror.

"Oh, my goodness!! ....., However, did that happen?" 

The child frantically said fear seemed to etch itself on his face the longer he took in the messes he stood alongside. His little chest heaved in fright as if the boy just noticed the devasting damage.

"I…I…I could …. have been killed!" He suddenly exclaimed, before burrowing his head in his hands. Patrica found her anger melting away as she watched the display play before her. Concern and sympathy caused her to kneel before the terrified child and pull him into a tight hug, which surprisingly Tom allowed.

"Sssh, it's okay, Tom," The matron whispered, she could feel a small smile tug at her lips at Tom's embrace. 

"Take a deep breath, that's it, and then try to tell me what happened."

"Alright, I'll try," He began, the slight tremors noticeably every so often in his voice, causing Patrica's heart to break. 

It was almost a shame when the orphan pulled out of her grasp. 

"So one minute I was sitting on the bed, just exchanging pleasantries with Harry and the next thing I knew, I'm sorry, It's just so horrifying……"

"It's alright. Take your time."

"Thank you. The next thing I knew, Harry was attacking me, calling me vicious names and throwing punches. After that, I am not quite sure what happened. It's all a blur."

Missus Cole rewarded Tom with a puzzled look before looking back at the mess. The pity for the eight-year-old was still there, but there was also a conflicted feeling stirring around in Patrica's gut. 

"Harry attacked you? That doesn't sound like Harry. Speaking of which, where is he?"

"That's the thing I am not sure!! He just ran off! If I said something offensive, though, I want to apologize! You must believe me when I say that I've REALLY been taking Dr. Connolly's advice seriously!"

"That doesn't make any sense Tom. I was just out in the hallway, and I didn't see anyone."

"I SWEAR that I am telling the truth. Just look into my eyes, and you will know that I am NOT LYING."

It was almost against the matron's control that she found herself looking back into Tom's pleading face. Her doubt started to vanish as she gazed into the boy's brown eyes. There were a lot of things about Harry that were unknown. Could there be a chance that the boy had a mean streak? Patrica had to admit that there was always a possibility.

"You DO believe me, right, Missus Cole?"

Something about the child's eyes suddenly convinced her that there was no reason why the adult shouldn't trust Tom. He wouldn't lie to her. So that means that he obviously had to be right about Harry. The lingering voice in her head was right! Harry was after-all new, while Tom had lived at Wools his whole life. Nothing like this had ever happened before the brunette's arrival. That being said, this had to be Harry's fault.

"Of course, I do, Tom." The woman replied instantly.

"Oh! That's wonderful. I am so relieved." Tom said with a quick smile, his hands once more wrapped around the matron's body. As Tom excepted this time around, she did not return the hug. Missus Cole stood tense, and still, her intelligent mind blanketed under a heavy near inescapable fog.

"Now, on to other matters, you will go ahead and find Harry. Won't you?" The child whispered, his warm breath tickling the adult's ear. 

"Harry couldn't have gotten far after all. When you do, do me a favor and bring him back here."

"Of course, Tom. I will be sure to do that." 

Like before, the matron's answer was automatic and spoken with an almost robotic tone. Tom smiled, impressed at his new source of complete control. His fingers releasing the embrace to better observe his genius.

Awe filled his being as he gazed at his puppet. A devious smirk stretched over his mouth at the thought that he could make the adult in front of him, do ANYTHING he so desired. Tempting ideas played around in his head before he cleared himself of their influences. 

Unfortunately, his hold on Missus Cole was temporary, so some thoughts would have to wait until he was older and powerful. At least for time, the eight-year-old knew that every order he commanded would be locked into the woman's subconscious, furthering Tom Riddle's plans by influencing the woman even after her sharp mind cleared. 

He really was a genius.

"Wonderful. You can go ahead and go now then." Tom said, satisfaction filling his veins as he watched Missus Cole, stand up and walk back towards the bedroom door. 

She was one footstep from entering the quiet hallway when Tom's smug voice rang out, stopping her dead in her tracks. One last final command never hurt anyone. 

"Oh, and do me a favor and bring a bed. I am sure that one of the other orphans here doesn't mind sharing."

"Yes, I will do that."

Tom watched as she continued her stride before she quickly left his trail of vision. He could just make out a groan and then a loud feminine voice yelling for Harry.

A small dark chuckle escaped the orphan's lips at the matron's rapid but now rather distance calls.

The full moon behind Tom's petite figure illuminating his body as he once more began scheming, every so often tracing the only flaw on his face. 

The boy wasn't sure how Harry had not only bounced the mysteriously engulfed beds back towards him or how he vanished in thin air. 

But one thing was for sure, the now manically laughing Tom Riddle was determined to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please REVIEW!!!
> 
> Your feedback helps motivate me, a procrastinating author, to write more!
> 
> Thank you very much for your patience and continuous support!


	4. "Dare You To Move"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After nearly getting killed by his psychopathic roommate, Harry finds himself in yet ANOTHER peril. This one perhaps more dangerous than the last, due to him literally falling in and out of reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> To start off, I want to give a personal thank you to libraryrocker, TimeLadyHope, and Taycin (whose birthday is today! Happy birthday! :D) for their reviews.
> 
> The thanks also extends to everyone who has given this story Kudos and/or Bookmarked this story! Thank you for your support! :)
> 
> With this chapter, I made sure to try to include some humor. Trust me, I think everyone needs a bit, here and there. I know I do. :)
> 
> Also, I tried my hand at understanding and researching certain parts of both 19th & 20th century London in hopes of creating a better connection with real life. Hopefully, I calculated everything right, but if you live in Great Britain, and notice something isn't adding up, PLEASE take my American attempts at creating a visual map with a grain of salt. :) 
> 
> Again thank you guys immensely! As someone who struggles with low self-esteem and hasn't been feeling very good as of late, the recognition that this story is getting means a lot! 
> 
> As always, happy reading! :D

_"Welcome to the fallout._

_Welcome to resistance._

_The tension is here._

_Tension is here._

_Between who you are and who you could be._

_Between how it is and how it should be, yeah._

_I dare you to move._

_I dare you to move._

_I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor._

_I dare you to move._

_I dare you to move._

_Like today never happened._

_Today never happened."_

_\- Dare You To Move_

_Switchfoot (2003)_

=============================

It's a funny thing, Death. A strange but slightly unnerving aspect and obviously evidential non-avoidable experience that every living thing on Earth faced. Some people died well after many years of a seasoned life, and others died many years before they even had a slim chance.

For, Harry, who stood still, hands clenched and eyes closed tightly. At the moment, the thought of death was calming, even if it involved being smashed, like a bug, with two poorly constructed engulfed beds. It meant that the brunette would finally be free. A feeling that he had yearned for quite some time. He wasn't quite sure exactly what he was hoping to escape, but whatever it was, Harry didn't care. So, when Tom carelessly tossed the furniture his way, the boy felt a smile tug at his lips.

However, life is about as funny as death.

For the briefest of seconds, Harry witnessed the worried expression that befell Tom's face and the remains of the charred beds in two heaping piles beside the eight-year-old. He was about to say, "Ha! You missed" when without warning he disappeared.

The room vanished, swirling in numerous colors, creating a sickening sensation in the nine-year old's gut. The orphan's body was neither here nor there. Instead forming a spiraling, swirling mass of movement before suddenly, Harry was physical once more and much to his horror, floating on his stomach high in the cloudy night sky.

"Oh, crap! Oh crap! Holy crap!" He screamed, struggling to make sense of his obvious peril. He was just in the psychopathic Tom's bedroom, fearing for his life, now it appeared that Harry, while out of danger from Tom, was facing the genuine possibility of falling to his death.

Great. Just great.

If he wasn't so scared of heights, he would be laughing at his sad, SAD, predicament. After all, it was better to go out laughing than crying ……. Or in this case,…… screaming. Which he was currently doing.

Harry honestly didn't know how or why he was seemingly floating. Then again, the brunette found himself finding out every day from Tom that he didn't know anything. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind when suddenly he glanced down.

"Wait a minute, is that, is that Lambeth?" He shouted down as he took in the snoozing city below him.

Trying to act braver than he truly felt, Harry twisted his body with some effort to a kneeling position, to better see the colossal district. Secretly relieved that since he was miles above any sort of life, his girlish screams of terror would be unheard.

Like with everything else in the current moment, he was back to mentally blaming everything on Tom. It was, after all, the eight-year old's fault he was in such a mess anyway! Who throws two engulfed beds at someone just because they don't want to agree with you?! Or who steals someone's glasses just because they want to read a book? Harry could keep going with his spiel, but after courageously looking below, he once again reminded himself that he had other more pressing issues.

"Well, I think that is, in fact, Lambeth MILES AND MILES BELOW. Wonderful. Just wonderful."

It was official that if Harry survived this latest ordeal, he would kill Tom and shove HIS remains in that stupid box!

While the thought was dark and briefly satisfying, it not only immediately made the brunette's head hurt, which the boy summed up to the higher altitude level, but also caused him to descend downwards …… rather quickly.

"Woah!! Woah!" He stammered out, relief flooding through him when he finally stopped. "Maybe I should save those ideas when I am back on the ground."

Yet another peek at the closer, but still, rather far away city made Harry nervously chuckle.

"Yes, umm, might be a wise decision."

For a good while, Harry did not think much of anything. One out of fear that if he got stuck on the wrong thinking pattern …… well, he might not make it out alive and two because he became fixated on the view below him.

"One thing is for sure, I am definitely over Lambeth. There is the River Thames and the Lambeth Bridge!"

Harry began, excitement momentarily replacing terror as he pointed out more of his surroundings, carefully adjusting himself once more so that he was sitting crisscrossed.

"Oh, and there is Lambeth Palace and from the west of that is…..Westminster!?! Wow!! You can even see parts of Vauxhall Bridge from up here!!"

The boy adjusted his glasses, cautious not to knock them off his face, as he had almost done after noticing a few boats out on the calm water. It didn't take long for Harry to follow the body of liquid and recognize more of the buildings underneath him on land.

It was easy to spot the Lambeth Workhouse and even from miles above, easy to feel the oppressive gloom that radiated around the massive structure. Quite a bit farther, more towards the water was the Gardens, which was walking distance to the nearby Palace.

If he focused enough, Harry could just make out Lambeth Road and the somewhat nicer setting dubbed Lambeth Walk, which was the heart of the city's working residential area and had both a recreation ground and wells.

At one point, Harry had overheard Missus Cole mentioning that a rather well maintained and inexpensive street market was nestled somewhere in the rows of brick houses. Yet the brunette had little knowledge as to where the shop could possibly be and quickly gave up the search.

With a shake of his head, Harry realized that Lambeth Walk was where Wool's Orphanage should have been built. Because while overpopulated and still having the unfortunate appearance of a poor neighborhood, at least there were more houses with potential families in that area. Not to mention a shopkeeper that, in Billy's opinion, practically gave away Cadbury bars.

"Beautiful. Wow! The view from up here is absolutely beautiful."

And it was beautiful from Harry's angle. High above the slums and the fatal sicknesses that came with being a penniless, unwanted orphan. The brunette found that between the moon's illumination and the silence that blanketed the ordinarily bustling city below, the vast population beneath him was beyond words.

It was almost too much that the once tall buildings that seemed to cage the orphan in on the cobbled ground now appeared as small settlements for ants—a refreshing reminder to see life from a different perspective from time to time.

Harry breathed a content sigh, before suddenly remembering that he was up miles and miles in the air with no known way down. The thought immediately sent him plummeting downward again for a few seconds before he suddenly stopped, once more hovering on his now upset stomach, panting for breath.

"Okay, I guess whatever I just did ….. I better not do it again? Honestly, I am not quite sure what I did that time."

He forced out in between coughs and pants, and much to his overall embarrassment, now officially empty stomach, Harry summoned up more of his fake bravery to attempt to stand………

……… and instead found himself lying on his back, gazing up at the stars with mild confusion.

"What the heck is going on?! I wasn't thinking anything at that time!"

His curiosity was left only answered by the occasional wind gusts which blew through his chilled body. He shuddered in response before wrapping his arms around his chest—a mutual combination of fear and surprise in regards to his current strange situation.

It was only after he took a look at the huge moon that he finally released his hands, which were clutched so tightly into his elbows that the touch was starting to pinch. The brunette then took a deep sigh before once more, trying to maneuver himself into AT LEAST another sitting position. Floating mid-air with no back support was starting to hurt his neck.

With shaky hands and equally shaking legs, he eventually pulled himself up until he was fully standing. A smile found a way to his face at the realization he somehow had achieved completely standing in mid-air.

"Now, that is done. Once more, how am I supposed to get myself down?"

Green eyes narrowed, determined to find something that could be used to save his hide. Other than a few low clouds, which he somehow unintentionally floated right into, he found himself completely and utterly alone. The feeling of weightlessness becoming more alarming the longer he found himself stranded.

"Hmmm, maybe If I imagine myself landing below……. Maybe that will work?"

Harry took a few seconds picturing himself slowly descending on a nice soft patch of grass. Just for good measure, he added children in the field laughing while flying kites with loving parents.

It was a pretty good mental image. The only issue? Harry found that he wasn't moving downward but upwards.

"Okay, Okay! Don't panic! Imagine somewhere else! ANYWHERE ELSE!"

He shook the thought of Wool's Orphanage quickly away. The boy wasn't sure why the image popped in his head, but one thing was for sure that was most certainly NOT a place he wanted to remember. As it was, Harry found the once more discovered feelings of rage had landed him moving faster AWAY from the ground.

"Somewhere else! Who knows? Maybe a place that doesn't have a sadistic orphan that wants to murder you, for some unknown reason, MIGHT WORK BETTER."

The orphan tried to once again imagine a lush field that he was sitting in. The nine-year-old wasn't quite sure why it kept coming to the forepart of his brain. But Harry liked the image better than anything else that his mind was creating. There was a calling to the small field. A strange but welcoming calling as he allowed the picture to consume him.

_The field is green, with tall colorful flowers that make numerous passers jealous. His feet are standing rather still as he admires a single tall tree that houses thick branches of dark green leaves. He races around the trunk, over and over again, continuously laughing. His giggles never stop, even when he stumbles over one of the roots and tumbles to the ground._

_"You can't catch me, Mother." He yells as he forces himself back up to avoid the old arms that attempt to grab him. He laughs louder when she misses and instead chooses to run faster._

_"Come and catch me!" He teases her, and to his enjoyment, she smiles back at him. Her dress blowing in the breeze as she hobbles towards him._

_"You better run little one." She mocks right back as he once more attempts to run._

_"Why? You can't catch me!"_

_"You're right, I cannot catch you." Mother says suddenly, causing him to stop briefly in confusion. "You are much too fast for an old woman like me."_

_He is so busy focusing on the blurry old woman that he doesn't notice the younger hands that quickly reach out and grab him from behind._

_"However, she can."_

_He struggles in the firm hold, laughing loudly as the young woman begins mercilessly tickling his sides._

It was a strange experience having an episode that didn't make Harry want to scream and rant. If he had moments like that, he highly doubted that he would have ANY real issues. Well, other than the normal ones that came with being an orphan.

Without thinking, his mind shifted back to Tom because anything regarding Harry's roommate was NOT normal, AND Harry had been forced to accept that his life, unfortunately, wouldn't be RIGHT AFTER he arrived at Wools.

It wasn't normal that Tom called him such horrible names.

It wasn't normal that Tom thought it was right to pin him on his bed against his will.

It WASN'T normal that Tom thought it was okay to HURT him and MANIPULATE his feelings.

It WASN'T nOrMaL that DUMB Tom took HIS GLASSES and USED THEM AS A BARGAINING TOOL!!

It WASN'T nOrMaL tHaT STUPID TOM thought it was a great idea to THROW DENNIS'S BOOK because GOD ONLY KNEW that Dennis's book was the ONLY heirloom the boy OWNED!

AND BY FAR!! IT WASN'T NORMAL THAT TOM THOUGHT IT WAS FINE TO ENGULF TWO BEDS, FLOAT THEM IN MID-AIR, DIAGONALLY ADJUST THEM, AND HURL THEM LIKE HIS WEAPONS AT HIS TERRIFIED ROOMMATE JUST BECAUSE HIS STUPID ATTEMPT AT INTIMIDATION FAILED AGAIN!! THAT WAS NOT NORMAL AT ALL!!!

It was a no brainer this time around as to why Harry was falling right out of the sky, and for a few moments, the boy did nothing but cross his arms and pout. Of course, that only lasted for a few seconds before the nine-year-old concluded that while his anger would eventually be the death of him if he had a choice, he would prefer to hold off on dying until he gave Tom a piece of his own medicine. Even if it was indirectly.

The orphan willed the anger to mentally go back into the little box, he jokingly called his _"happy place"_ only to find that this time the emotional change did absolutely nothing to aid him.

The brunette attempted to escape once more into his imagination. But between the fact that the wind was starting to howl loud enough around him to keep Harry from completely using his _"gift"_ and the fact that he was literally …… falling to his death, made the situation rather difficult to change.

He opened his eyes and then quickly closed them. The whole plan to slowly descent downwards had done nothing. Well, maybe a little something? It didn't appear that Harry was falling AS FAST now.

Maybe he could give himself a pep talk?

"Just keep thinking happy thoughts. Just keeping thinking happy thoughts. Don't think of anything scary or upsetting. Like the fact you are orphaned OR that you are miles and miles and MILES above ground and the fact that if you DON'T think of happy thoughts, you will probably end up splattered on the ground. THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS!! JUST KEEP THINKING HAPPY THOUGHTS!"

Some inner part of Harry facepalmed as his speed once more rapidly increased. Once more, the nine-year-old tried to focus on the field that he was so happy earlier. But this time, the area held his dead body or better yet the remains of it.

"Crap! Crap! Crap! CRAP CRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP!!" He yelled. His sweaty hands reaching out for anything that could possibly stop his fall. If the height didn't kill him, the collision one of the buildings below or the ground would.

"STOP! STOP! SLOW DOWN! ERRRRR STOP! HAPPY THOUGHTS!"

No matter what Harry said, he couldn't seem to stop his descent. The still horrible image of him splattered on the ground continuously remained in his thoughts, and to make matters worse, Tom was right beside his corpse laughing.

"DAAAAMMMMMMMNNNNNNN IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He winced as the ground grew closer, the wind whizzing around him, the pressure causing tears to fall from his eyes. Somewhere along the way, Harry's oversized glasses flew off, leaving him near-blind, which in hindsight, the boy figured wasn't that bad of a deal. No matter what Harry tried, he couldn't stop them from falling from his face. The orphan was going so fast that he couldn't even find the strength to move his hands from their pinned sides!

Harry couldn't do anything!! He couldn't stop Tom, and now for some stupid reason, he couldn't prevent himself from falling. Why? Why couldn't he do it?!

_"Look, guys! Look, he's doing it! My son is doing it!" A massive male voice rings out behind him. He can't seem to turn around though, so instead his little hands just clench tighter around the broom's wooden handle, laughing when his socked feet once more briefly leave the tiled ground._

_"Of course, he is! What did you expect?" Another deeper voice calls out in disbelief and in unmistaken pride._

_"Prongs?! Where you seriously having doubts?" Yet another male voice calls out. This tone sounds teasing but also like the formers overjoyed._

_"It did kind of sound like it." A smaller, more meek voice agreed before laughing nervously._

Prongs? Prongs? Why did the name hold such a feeling? A strong feeling? Then again, all the voices he was hearing created similar feelings? Why couldn't Harry remember who these people were?

_'HARRY.'_

_Prongs is holding him, his face unfortunately foggy like the others, yet he knows this man was happy due to his gleeful laughter. A smile forms on his face at the soft wet sensation that touches his forehead. An affectionate kiss proves that this man loves him._

_"Of course not!" Prongs laughed loudly, the other voices quickly following. "I told Lily that this was a good idea! Flying is in your blood, Harry!"_

_Another gentle kiss._

_"The trick is YOU knowing it."_

Knowing what? Lily? Who was Lily? Fantasies and realities blurred together. Faces of people he had never meant, never known, merged quickly into his mind, creating broken conversations that he just couldn't stop and decipher.

_"Harry? Honey? You need to be brave for mommy. Okay? You need to survive. No matter what happens. No matter what, you need to stay here and be as quiet as possible. Do you understand?"_

Lily? Was this Lily? Harry, feeling himself drifting mentally into another scenario, attempted to focus on the scene. Maybe, just maybe this time, he could control it.

_"Whatever happens, know that mommy and daddy love you so much."_

_He wants to hold on to her, yet he is so tired, and after a kiss, to his forehead, she sets him in a hollowed-out tree. His body misses the warmth of her arms and begins to cry._

"C'mon! Who are you? Let me see you! Let me move!!" Harry physically screamed out loud, trying to force his imaginary body's hands to move. Just like in reality, his arms remained trapped at his side. Unable to do anything! "Don't just sit there, dummy! Do something!"

_'HARRY.'_

_As she backs away, he clearly sees water streaking does her still blurry face. For some reason, he knows that that water isn't from the rain._

"Why are you crying?! Who are you?!"

_Just like that, she is gone, leaving him alone and blanketed in something warm. Yet it isn't the same as her hands. It isn't the same._

"MOVE!!"

_I am moving, the blanket wrapped tightly around me, just like mommy said._

"Mommy."

_I hear her voice, but it doesn't sound happy. I hear her voice and run to her. I miss mommy. I miss daddy. I want to go home. I walk past another tree and another and another. The moon is full and bright. There is a lot of rain. It makes it hard to see with the blanket on. Mommy is so close. I can hear her clearly. I can hear her with someone._

_'HARRY.'_

_"Harry!!"_

It was the scream that brought him back to the present. The high pitched female scream that he has heard off and on in his nightmares. The pain and agony of the screech always brought tears to his eyes, and this time was no different. Tears flowed down his face, rising up to trail off his forehead. It took him a second to realize that Harry's fall had now slowed drastically, merely allowing him to gently float.

The nine-year-old didn't really care, though. The brunette couldn't find it in himself too. It made no difference when Harry's feet slowly touched the ground and, when gravity once more, cradled his body. In response, the boy wasted little time collapsing on the cold area around him.

"Why can't I control them? Why … can't …. I?"

His body hurt. His mind hurt. Damn! Everything hurt, and the worse part was that Harry felt something else pound in pain also. Something that usually didn't, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just his aching heart.

His green eyes widened briefly in pain, and then suddenly, everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please REVIEW!
> 
> Your feedback helps motivate me, a procrastinating author, to write more!
> 
> Thank you for your patience and continuous support!


	5. "Speed Of Sound"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Determined to understand his new surroundings, Harry finds himself opening long-forgotten doors to his blurred past. The only thing is some doors may be locked for a rather good reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Sorry for the long update! Between work and trying to move out, my schedule has been crazy!
> 
> I want to give a massive thank you to Voulve for the inspiring feedback on the last chapter! Like I have said before, please send me feedback if you enjoy reading! It really makes my day to see that so many people are enjoying reading!
> 
> As always, thank you for your support and happy reading! :)

_"The sign that I couldn't read_

_Or a light that I couldn't see_

_Some things you have to believe_

_But others are puzzles, puzzling me_

_All that noise and all that sound_

_All those places that I got found_

_And birds go flying at the speed of sound._

_To show you how it all began."_

\- _Speed of Sound_

_Coldplay (2005)_

_=================_

"What exactly is this place?" Harry muttered, gazing absentmindedly at his pale, almost glowing fingers. The area he was currently in was beyond strange, as regardless of where the small boy looked, dark nothingness seemed to coat the …. room? Space? Harry wasn't quite sure what to call it. But whatever it was, it was strange.

He pulled himself upright, … had he been sitting? Standing or at least, so he thought in what he hoped was the center of ….where-ever and whatever he was currently housed in. Shock and a tad puzzled that even though he was confident that his feet were moving, that he couldn't feel any sensation coming from the lower muscles.

"This is so weird." He remarked, wincing when his voice suddenly echoed all around him, making him cautiously wonder if there were numerous other Harry's in the area with him. A chorus of variously aged Harry's responding immediately in similar wonder, fasciation and doubt.

_'Is it possible that I'm dead?'_

He paused at the morbid thought, not out of fear but out of confusion. The mental words just appeared in mid-air, swirling around him in fancy blue ink before hitting and vanishing into thin air before him. It was almost as if an invisible wall was there.

His hands reached out to touch where the words had vanished, but his fingers went right through.

_'Impossible.'_

Again letters appeared, only this time they appeared taller and less smoothly written. Harry watched as they floated together before suddenly separating. Each color-changing letter flowing higher in a different direction before they too disappeared. Colliding and vanishing into something that Harry, for some reason, just couldn't see.

_'Maybe I am missing something.'_

It was a long shot, but maybe Harry had missed something. He shrugged at the thought. The blue letters that appeared from the ground circled tightly around him, nearly tripping him with their strange closeness. The words in a neat trail flew high above the nine-year-old's head and like before vanished into the invisible wall.

Backing up slightly to see if maybe there was something that the brunette had stupidly missed the last few times proved to be just as worthless. The area that the letters were colliding with showed nothing more than a pure white space, the exact same as everything else in the almost sensory deprived environment.

_'This is crazy. Absolutely insane.'_ Harry thought with a huff. Crossing his arms at the space before him. _'None of this makes any sense.'_

And it didn't make any sense. It seemed that whatever place Harry had appeared in, lacked any sort of similarity to reality. He sighed as the new letters danced around his fingertips, their movements sporadic and unique to each simple word.

With a slight tilt of his head, Harry watched as both the bolded red words "CRAZY" and "INSANE" chaotically jerked around. The two words smashed into the others with such gusto, causing Harry to jump out of the way to avoid being cut by their sharp edges.

The violent word's attacks soon left themselves shredded like the rest of the dainty pale words. Leaving behind only the word "SENSE," which, while extremely torn and looked more like a thin parchment piece, stuck around for a few more seconds before fading its N's, and one of its S's.

"See."

The voices as if on cue echoed around him. Still, this time Harry could hear something else quietly underneath the familiar mimicking. Soft, yet powerful even its whispers, Harry found himself waiting quietly with stilled breath in hopes that it would repeat itself like the others. It didn't, much to his increasing disappointment, leaving Harry questioning if the illegible tone was ever there, to begin with.

' _It wouldn't surprise me if I am just hearing things…..'_

Green eyes peered at space where the faint single damaged word still oddly remained. It had someone outlasted every new letter except for the ones that made up the thin curvy "SURPRISE," which true to its spelling, continuously raised itself up and down. Almost as if the word was replicating an individual's unexpected jump. If Harry was in a more playful mood, he probably would have laughed at the ridiculous action.

_'…..After all, I know I surely see things.'_

“I just don’t get it." He found himself whispering, pacing back up to space where the letters kept vanishing too. Once more, he put his hands out, and again, Harry's plan failed to precisely understand what he was facing. Or what he was supposed to do. Or better yet, where he was even at.

Or honestly why he was so hellbent on leaving wherever he was at anyway.

It was definitely a peculiar thought that Harry wasn't really aware of until that exact moment. Why did he want to leave exactly? Sure, there wasn't anything good around him. But at the same time, there wasn't anything terrible. If he was honest while his current predicament was unnerving and rightly so, there was also a sort of comfort with being alone in such a place.

Looking down at himself, Harry quickly noticed the rather tacky tattered remains of his sleepwear. Anywhere else, he would have been freezing. Even in his own bed at Wools, the brunette was cold. But here, he felt none of the physical issues that he had unfortunately long since gotten used too. To some degree, it was nice in that aspect. There were no more concerns about the weather or a growling stomach. The latter being the primary problem in the last week, not just for Harry but also for all the poor orphans. Even Missus Cole had complained off and on about not having enough supplies for the constant flow of new faces. Here though, Harry had a feeling that that was no longer an issue.

"Harrrrrryyyyyyyyy……."

Harry stopped picking the random pieces of fluff off his clothes at the noise. Again a strange sense of urgency washed over him, that and a spontaneous feeling of indigestion. He clutched his stomach at the powerful sensation. So much for not having stomach problems.

"Hello!?" He called out, this time hearing no response other than a sudden unexpected breeze that made the air around him hazy.

_'Creepy.'_

The brunette actually was grateful as the materialized word provided temporary dim light in the fogged area. Soon, however, it disappeared, leaving Harry alone in the increasingly heavy dark mist. At that moment, an idea struck the child, one that honestly the boy couldn't believe he hadn't previously thought of.

_'Light'_

Instantaneously, the word appeared beside him, nearly blinding Harry with its bright light before suddenly vanishing, leaving Harry momentarily alone in the darkness.

_'More Light.'_

Pride filled his veins as once again, the words appeared, shining their combined brightness to light the space. With confidence, Harry willed his fingers to touch one of the letters. Unlike before, the words didn't move from the position, allowing the brunette to gently grip the letter "I." The only way Harry could describe the texture was that it strongly reassembled a glassy object.

_'Like a lightbulb.'_

Harry's shock grew when all of a sudden, the “I” floated high above him. Its shape changing into the said mental object, that sucked in the other two words to better fuel its own power.

"Wow." He mouthed out as the lightbulb flew gently back into his hands. Green eyes peered at the warm invention with disbelief.

"That was, just …… wow. I wonder if I can make other things like this."

Clearing his mind, Harry closed his eyes and briefly focused on his breathing. Counting as the forced shallow breaths became slower deeper in their consistency. It was when he reached six when a sudden door appeared in his thoughts. The boy didn't stop the image. Instead, he concentrated more on its development, allowing his imagination to detail every portion of the idea before intuition told him to open his eyes.

In front of him was the door. Or what he assumed was supposed to be one. It was a creamy white with a strange, almost triangular top. It appeared much too small to be considered a "door" as entering would involve a visitor to bend so uncomfortably low that it would be painful.

That wasn't the most peculiar part of the structure, either. The most interesting was by far, the noises that were coming from the inside. The brunette paused to listen, hoping to understand the words spoken but only recognized the unmistakable sound of someone crying. Harry found himself backpedaling slightly, fear rising in his gut at the voice. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea?

Harry barely had time to contemplate another move when the lightbulb flew out of his hands and right into the door. It seemingly not caring about Harry's sudden apprehensiveness or the fact that he wasn't a big fan of the dark.

"Hey! Wait up!" The child shouted, gathering his courage and racing after it. Whatever the door held behind, it had to be better than being alone………..

……..

……..

.... Harry was in a tight, cramped space. But unlike all the other times, he wasn't alone. So at least he got his wish there. The only problem with his current company was that the small child, a boy, judging by his tiny appearance, around the age of six, was sobbing uncontrollably.

_He is trapped all alone in the cramped space. Trembling from his lack of protection from the drafty cold and the never-ending fear that follows his every move. He focuses silently on his breathing, 1….2….3….4; 1….2…3…4; 1…2…."_

Harry couldn't see the boy's face, not only due to the lightbulb's dim lighting but also for the fact that he couldn't seem to move. The space was obviously not made for a Human's living arrangements, let alone two. It didn't help the fact that whoever the crying child appeared to not even be aware of Harry's presence, and God only knew that Harry had tried to get the kid's attention.

_He is hungry. So hungry, so unbelievable hungry._

Harry found that nothing appeared to make any difference. Between trying to touch the pitiful sight before him to imagining something into the current reality. To even attempting to unlock the door that was keeping both boys tethered. Nothing worked!

_His fingers trace the new sources of affection on his arms. He picks away the crusted over blood on the old wounds, desperately trying to ignore his rumbling stomach and achy muscles._

It was incredibly frustrating. But more so sad, because Harry wanted to help but just lacked the knowledge of how.

_How much time has passed? An hour? Two? A few days? Time is nothing in the small cupboard._

"Why are you crying?" He asked the child for the ninth time. By now, Harry knew he would not receive an answer. Another quick survey of the room deemed it relatively empty and dusty, housing numerous spiders that hastily climbed up one of the walls.

_His birthday is celebrated only with the spiders that live in the dusty, cramped space with him. Each of them granted Human names just so he would feel less alone._

"Better yet, why are you in here?" Harry softly requested, his hand reached out to pat the child's shoulder comfortingly only for his fingers to fade right through. Cursing at the reminder that physical touch was still something he still couldn't give.

_Why didn't they love him anymore? They use too ….., right? He can't remember and decides that it is best not to try. So, instead, he counts the spiders as they scurry beside him. It is better to pretend. Better to forget. Or at least try._

_He flexes his fingers at the thought, trying to control his shaking._

_'Why do you let them treat you this way?'_

The smaller boy only sniffled in response, curling more into himself, giving Harry a better look at the child's thin back.

_I don't know.'_

_'Do you enjoy the lies? The beatings? The neglect?'_

"You look worse than me, and that is saying something." He joked, hoping to at least alleviate some of his own uncomfortably at the awkward situation. "Were you one time at Wools also?"

_'No, I don't.'_

As predicted, his attempt at humor was a failure. There was nothing funny about the situation before him. Harry felt that no amount of fake amusement would change that.

_'Then why do you let it happen?'_

He was about ready to apologize when the door flew up, causing both boys to look up at the stout figure before them.

_'Because I am afraid.'_

_The door swings open with such intensity that he is blinded by the sudden light. However, any feeling of shock is replaced by fear when he sees the massive hunched over figure._

The man was plump and broad, dressed in a light green sweater vest and dark wool pants. He had short black hair that looked somewhat disheveled, giving him a more frazzled appearance. All in all, he didn't look bad. The only thing amiss in the middle-aged man's form was the smile plastered over his reddish face. It wasn't natural or benevolent in nature. If anything, it made Harry shudder.

_'Don't let him see your fear.'_

"The door is open! Maybe you can get around him!" Harry half-shouted, half-whispered to the small trembling boy. The kid had every right to tremble, as the more Harry looked at the intermediating man, the more he wanted to flee.

_'Don't let him see your tears.'_

"Look at his size compared to yours, It shouldn't be much of a problem."

_'Don't let him hear you beg.'_

It was as if the man was aware of Harry's presence because he leaned down to block both the boy's escape route. The closer view allowed the brunette to notice something even more so troubling. The man's beady eyes had an almost hazy look to them and were as dark as the space Harry and the smaller brunette were currently stuck in.

_'Don't let him win.'_

"Come ere boi," The man said suddenly, a sadistic gleam on his face as his big stubby hands reached in to pull the panicking child out of his hideaway. "Cecelia ain't here now. It's just you and me."

_'I can't, I am too afraid! I can't! I just can't!'_

"No, please! Please!" The child answered shrill cries as he desperately tried to keep the intruding fingers away from him. "Please! I'll be good!"

_Dread and adrenaline fills him as he tries to put as much distance as possible from the clawing hands. He is only adding to his suffering, but at the moment, he can't stop his attacking. Anything to control the future he was staring in the face._

Harry briefly paused. The voice it sounded like ……. It sounded like. No! That was impossible. He was right there! It was physically impossible! Completely impossible! But then again…..

_Because the only time the man gets him out of his closet is when Cecelia isn't home so that he can…. He can…..!_

"DON'T GIVE UP!" Harry screamed, shaking his head, and the tears away. A feeling of intense dread had worked its way in his small body. He tried to grab on to the more diminutive brunette's waist. ANYTHING to keep the boy from being yanked out of the space.

_'Please, god! Not this! Please! Not this! I don't want this!'_

"WHATEVER YOU DO! DON'T…. GIVE …. UP!!

_'Then stop it. You know how.'_

_'I can't! I can't! I am too afraid!'_

The child only answered with more pleas and near illegible begging that lasted until a painful crack echoed in the space. Then an agonized scream radiated through the room. The boy's slight hesitation allowed the man to finally grab the broken ankle and pull.

_His screams are endless, as searing pain seems to replace every other feeling. It doesn't matter that he is crying. It doesn't matter that he is begging. At least he hasn't lost yet. Desperate, he kicks out......._

"NOO!! DON'T LET GO!! NOOO!!"

_...Only for a loud slap to land on his bloodied face. It stings but not as much as the sudden grubby fingers gripping his hair. He doesn't have enough leverage to loosen the vice grip. He's losing._

With horror, Harry watched as the boy finally was dragged out of the dark, dusty closet. His screams are never-ending as he tried in vain to use his nails to slow his descent. It was useless, though, as, in the end, it only angered the drunken man holding him prisoner.

_'Please help! Please, I'll do anything!'_

"Got ou now, ou little shit!" The man snarled, his hand colliding once more with his prisoner's cheek after pulling him entirely out. The force of the blow landed the small brunette to fall onto his stomach. Showing a bruised and bloodied face that Harry knew very well.

_'Please don't leave me! PLEASE, oh, god! Please!'_

His own.

It was at the sight of his own horrifically abused self that Harry made the sudden connection. What he was seeing was not just a fantasy, but a memory. A horrible, HORRIBLE memory!

The howl of rage that came out of Harry was almost inhuman sounding. The brunette didn't care how horrifying it sounded or the murderous intent that suddenly plagued his thoughts. All his focus was on escaping and doing some sort of damage.

Harry attempted to jump out of the cupboard, only for the space between himself and the doorframe to suddenly grow. Clenching his fists, the brunette forced himself into a run.

The boy's anger growing into desperation as the image of his younger self's panicked flailing grew more distant. Gurgled cries mixed with slurred fury filled mumblings caused Harry to run even faster. His footsteps echoing loudly as the door shrank further and further away.

The hot tears stained his vision. He suddenly found the lengthy closet he had been so determined to escape instantly vanishing. The door that he had been so eager to race through slowly closed. The unnerving noises from the memory sealed within before it also disappeared.

In one last attempt, Harry frantically reached out his hands to take hold of something, only to plummet once more into darkness. This time though, Harry cared little about where he would end up if anywhere. What did it matter?

"HHHaaaarrrryyyyyy……" The voice called loudly, its soft yet powerful voice bouncing all around the falling boy. The sound coating him with a strange sense of calmness, so much in fact that he didn't notice the change in not only climate but temperature.

"HHHHAARRRYYYYYY………"

His fingers reached out to touch some of the heavy dark green swirls that he fell past. The cold air nearly taking the boy's breath away.

"Come to me, Harry. Come to me." It asked, concern in its tone. With one more look at his drifting upwards tears, Harry closed his eyes, allowing another door to manifest itself into reality. This one appearing like a massive oak carved doorway.

The only indication that Harry was moving downwards was the door's creak as it swung open and the voice's quiet laughter...

……..

……..

....Brief bright light coated the area, reminding Harry of snow before it quickly showed him an aerial view of a small but functional kitchen.

The floor was dark gray tiles that looked matched the heavy-duty curtains on both of the room's windows. A small green dresser was directly below, housing a tall green colored glass cabinet. Harry quickly assumed that whoever's kitchen, this was obviously liked the color as it was the chosen color for many other objects in the space. Such as the white-topped, small table, window sills, and even the wall's floor lining.

A quick note of the room also showed that at the same green lined the middle of the walls too, which strangely enough were gold at the bottom and had white flowery wallpaper at the top. Harry didn't think that the kitchen wasn't that bad. It had a homey feel to it. However, he did find himself somewhat unsatisfied with the ceiling color, as it reminded him of burnt paper.

Burnt paper……..

A sudden wave of guilt crashed over him at the reminder of Dennis's book, which was probably nothing more than burnet paper at this point. He sighed at the thought. Another positive if Harry was, in fact, dead.

Of course, the feeling of self-pity ended as quickly as it came when a sudden ding came from the stove to the far left of him. As well as the sudden scent of freshly baked cookies that wafted up to his nostrils. Harry wasn't sure if it was the excitement over the cookies or the surprise when a bird flew smack into the window outside, which caused him to fall to the ground but found that he didn't care.

He couldn't remember the last time he smelled something so delicious! Harry was getting ready to try to open the oven's door when he heard the sound of slowly moving feet.

"I'm coming! I'm coming." The woman said, the worn-out apron hugging her elderly hunched over figure as she attempted to pick up the pace. "God give strength to these old legs."

Harry instantly began trying to think of possible excuses for trespassing in the stranger's kitchen when the old woman walked right through him.

_'That's right. Technically I'm not here.'_

Quieting his anxiety as well as the strange sense of fondness that he felt for the woman, he focused solely on the aged hands. They fiddled with the knobs, before gently grabbing a neighboring oven mitt and pulling out the steaming metal tray.

There was something about her that Harry just couldn't place. His green eyes scanned her smiling face, noticing every wrinkle and twinkle that seemed to appear in her bright blue eyes. She was very pale, with snow-white hair that made Harry question how old she actually was. Regardless of the knowledge that the woman was possibly in her seventies if not older, she had the energy that one might assume more to an individual half her age.

He came to this decision when he watched her expression dampen over one of the cookies. To Harry, they all looked terrific. Perfectly proportioned and filled to the brim with chocolate. Just the sight of them would be enough to make even the greatest of bakers jealous! However, the woman obviously saw some sort of flaw with the last one as she hobbled not once or twice but three times back to the far closet to get decorative supplies.

Harry found it oddly refreshing to see someone so old be as free-spirited and feisty as the adult beside him. Mostly when he watched her coat, the cookies in chocolate syrup. She would hum to herself, occasionally saying some words in a foreign, while adding EXACTLY two squirts of thick chocolate syrup on each dessert. He found himself laughing when she looked around the room as if not to attract suspicion before squirting an extra one on the cookie that she disapproved of.

The woman had just put the batch on a silver plate when the loud noise of running heels on wooden steps echoed outside the far wall. The wooden door opened with a loud thud, showing Harry a somewhat flustered young woman in a blue dress. Her white apron covered not only her lower skirt. Still, it was pinned tightly to her blouse, giving her striking similarities to a nurse.

"Ma'am!" She began, her eyes wide in shock at the old woman chuckling in front of her. "Ma'am! What are you doing up here in the servant's quarters? You should be resting."

The old woman just laughed harder, handing the tray to her unamused helper, who set it down on the table to aid the hobbling elder.

"I can't just sit down all day Sara," She panted, allowing the brunette to carefully but quickly pull up a wooden chair for her partner to rest upon. Harry noticed the tired but satisfied smile formed on her thin lips as she watched her helper paced around the room. Quickly filling a glass of water to give to the aged lady.

"You know that."

"That's what you hired me, though." Sara retorted. Her fingers effortlessly grabbed a broom and gave the floor by the oven a good sweep before returning to look at her employer. "I am supposed to make your life easier."

"And you are dear. Not just for me, but for Harry too."

"Well, thank you. But I don't think I do enough for either of you."

"You do more than enough, Sara." The old woman said quickly. With bated breath, Harry watched as she pulled herself out of the chair, ignoring the offering hands of the surprised young brunette.

"I am old, dear. But I am not that old, dear." She said with a cocky smile, lifting the tray with difficulty until Sara literally took it from her. "I still have quite a bit of time left, and these bones aren't going to stop me from enjoying myself."

The brunette rolled her eyes playful at the confident yet carefree attitude. To an outsider, the gesture would be considered relatively informal since the two had a work-related relationship. Still, as Harry watched and listened to more of the duo's conversations, they obviously shared a closer bond.

"Why am I not surprised? Still, you have to remember that Harry needs you. The last thing a child needs is to grow up without someone that loves him." The brunette answered in a joking tone. However, while a smile tugged on the corners of her pink lips, Harry could feel the sober truth in her words. After all, the nine-year-old was sadly an orphan now.

That thought lingered as the small boy watched more of the scene in front of him. What had caused him to be an orphan in the first place? Gazing at the kitchen around him and more at the two women who had such strong affection for him, Harry couldn't figure out how he ended up at Wools in the first place. Or how the current memory and the one prior were connected.

Both Harry and Sara watched as the strong-willed woman made her way out of the kitchen towards the door.

"And that, my dear, is the exact reason why I hired you." She began, her voice more sentimental than the last answer. Now, on that note, let's go give little Harry these cookies. Well, all of them except …. the one right there on the end ..... that one I feel didn't turn out quite right."

Sara chuckled slightly, dusting her free hand off on her apron before taking a second to gaze out the window. Harry followed her gaze, noticing the fields and distance woodlands in the background.

"Sara?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Don't worry." The kind smile once more reached the old woman's eyes as she looked back at Sara's worried expression. "I promise that you will see him again. Oh! And one more thing! Stop calling me Ma'am. It's making me feel my physical age."

Harry didn't realize that he was holding on to the young woman's hand until she walked off to open the door for her employer. Their conversation continued after the kitchen door closed as Harry could just faintly hear their words. He couldn't remember much about either of them, but only from what he had heard, felt and seen, Harry had no doubt that they loved him. His belief furthered confirmed when one of the lower cabinet door opened to reveal a giggling younger him.

It was strange to see himself so young and so happy. So full of life and wonder. A feeling of longing washed over him as Harry witnessed his younger self gather up his large blanket and cautiously make his way to the door.

Again the question arose how did he end up at Wools?

The nine-year-old was so preoccupied with his thinking and watching the apparent toddler's clumsy distancing footsteps that he didn't notice another figure standing beside him.

It was only when Harry out of the corner of his eyes caught a slight movement to his left when he turned around to see, unbelievably a perfect copy of himself.

At first, the other did nothing, instead, staring off with a blank expression at the place that Sara had previously been standing moments prior. But just like with Harry, the copy slowly turned and met Harry's gaze.

"Can you see me?" Harry found himself asking.

The boy was partially excited at the thought of being seen but at the same time partly scared that he was, in fact, loosing whatever little bit of his sanity he had left.

The other him said nothing, just walked up to Harry a faint scent of smoke wafting from the rags that were on his skinny body. He had a strikingly similar appearance to the Harry that he had seen in the other memory. The same fearful demeanor, the same bruises on his wrists and the big, but dull, almost lifeless eyes. The only difference was other that this version looked a little older than the first memory and had a strange silhouette like appearance that hung like a mist around his figure.

"Excuse me! Can you hear me or anything like that? Just a simple "hi" or ... Ummm, … something like that would be great. You know?" Harry said, backing up subconsciously as the other him walked closer to him. The realization that Harry was looking at a traumatized, uncommunicative, version of himself scared him.

The large square table and chair that the older woman had been sitting at, hopefully, his only coverage. He closed his eyes, still not one hundred percent sure why he was so fearful and found that he was nose to nose with the other him. Who was staring at him, intently?

What was he staring at?

Carefully, Harry tilted his head to see what the other him was looking at and, in shock, discovered that Harry had backed himself up into the neighboring window in his anxiety. He laughed at the stupidity of the whole situation.

"Ummm, … so I guess that I was wrong, and you didn't understand me at all?"

The doppelgänger then backed up, his eyes gazing at Harry before walking towards the closet door. Unlike the previous memory, this closet door was normalized and bore no heavy dark vibe that its predecessor had. The other Harry stood directly in front of the door. His appearance appearing fainter the longer he remained.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

A second later, Harry received his answer when his copy turned once more to face him. A blank expression quickly turning into a smug smile before the clone opened the closet door, and calmly walked through.

"Wait!" Harry called to the other him, surveying one more time the now empty room. Toddler him was gone, leaving behind only the open kitchen door. The brunette briefly found himself in a dilemma. Which other him should he follow?

The one where he was obviously happy?

Or?

The one who was trying to possibly help him make sense of all this?

Forgetting his fear, Harry made up his mind and raced after the bruised and battered version, following him through the door.

"What is with this place?!!" He yelled once more in darkness as the door closed he had just entered through closed and then vanished from behind him. At least he wasn't falling this time, instead being permitted to continue his jog. Which Harry actually liked better. His confidence boosted, even more, when the darkness was suddenly chased from the area by a white comet-like shape. It flew directly through Harry, swallowing his fear and any of the blackness that it passed in its travels. Soon, only white warmth illuminated the space.

"Hello? Other me? Where did you go?" Harry asked. He was hoping that the extra light would help him see just where the copy ran off too. However the more the nine-year-old looked, the more he found himself alone. 

No sooner had the disappointment settled back into Harry when he came across another door. It was in a rather bad condition, appearing as though it had been blasted with something. Deep, large cracks etched in the oak remains gave it a threatening vibe. That and the faint green light that radiated around its edges. 

As Harry got closer, he found to his relief, that the clone was standing right in front of it, waiting with a smile. The misty outline making the other Harry appear see-through.

"Whew! Found you! Was I ….. was I always this fast? Jeesh!" Harry shouted as he approached the figure. The doppelgänger just continued to smile before he beckoned him with his hand and walked thru another door.

"Oh, COME ON!" The nine-year-old panted. He was literally losing a game of chase to himself, and the irony was that he WANTED to be the version that won!

Once again, ignoring the stirrings in his gut, Harry ran face-first into the opening, which cracked slightly at his impact and directly sent him into an empty hazy room. Space was filled with heavy emotion, namely tension, and made the hair on Harry's arms stand up. It was like feeling constant invisible electricity surging from within his own body.

"Hello?" He asked, just like the first space his voice echoed briefly. Green sparks fizzled in and out of his face. Again reminding Harry of a powerful thunderstorm that was just waiting to erupt. Thank God this part, at least, wasn't real. Hopefully.

"Hello, Harry." The voice he heard earlier answered pleasantly.

"Oh …. Ummm, hi? How …. How are you?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry mentally facepalmed. How are you? What the hell kind of question was that? How are you? It WAS a voice in his head. How are you?! Maybe he should try to take Dr. Connolly seriously.

To his shock, the voice laughed. It's energy shaking the area that Harry was currently walking into the point of almost making him lose his balance.

"How am I? What a funny question! My wellbeing all depends on how you are. So, how are you?”

Harry paused because he wasn't quite sure. Here he was having a conversation with a voice in his head, and unlike all the other countless times, IT WAS replying back, AND HE CARED WHAT IT THOUGHT. This was getting to be too much.

"Great. I am doing just great!" The boy exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the heavy air in exasperation. "I am just having a conversation with myself!"

"What's the problem with that, Harry? The voice asked, concern and amusement in its voice. Harry noted that it sounded slightly younger than before.

"EVERYTHING!" ONLY crazy people talk to themselves!"

"Or people that are extremely lonely." The voice mused sarcastically.

"That's true! Great! So now I have both problems!" Harry retorted back when familiar laughter once more echoed around him. It was then that he saw the other him, chuckling maniacally at Harry's misery.

"Yep! It's official. I'm crazy and lonely! Wonderful! Just what I need to end another "perfect" day!"

"Why do you think you are crazy?" The other him asked, confusion mixing with a slight tone of innocent concern as he took in Harry's pacing figure.

"How can I NOT think I am crazy!?" The boy started, his feet quickly moving him to stand in front of the other Harry. Screw caution. For some reason, Harry could only feel anger, disbelief, and surprisingly his head hurt…… really bad. Guess he wasn't dead. Shame.

"Okay, Let me spell it out for you! ONE, I was almost murdered by Tom, who thought it was a great idea to throw two engulfed beds at me just because I didn't do what he wanted.

"Tom?"

"My psychotic, creepy roommate. TWO, I was somehow FLOATING …. NO WAIT….. FALLING miles above Lambeth."

"Why?"

"I DON'T KNOW. I wish I did, but I don't. I guess I panicked, and then my dumb brain was like, …. Hey … its safer miles above the city than, you know, just appearing outside of Wools. ANYWAY, THREE, I have been stuck HERE, WHATEVER the hell this place is! Honestly, tell me right now! Am I dead?!"

The doppelgänger tilted his head, the question piking his interest. "If you were dead, I wouldn't be here."

"True, I suppose. But then, what are you?! Because I don't mean to be that person, but YOU are number four."

"Perfectly reasonable." The other him said, nodding his head in understanding. "I can accept that. Talking to yourself ……"

"And seeing a version of yourself."

"Yes, and seeing a version of yourself is definitely something that would cause worry in a lot of people."

Silence befell both of the individuals as the realization of how awkward the situation suddenly appeared. Neither knew how to start the conversation until the copy Harry, who was rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact, found the courage.

"So, umm, is Tom the main reason why you are finally talking to me?"

"Tom? Why would you bring up that arrogant jerk?"

"Well, I was asleep, ummmm…. I mean, I think I was. Honestly, I don't know anymore. Everything is a blur. But suddenly, I felt this….. Ummm, feeling, and then pop! I was just here and the way you were talking about Tom … just now …. Had the same intensity."

"Oh! Wait! Just here? What does that even mean? Better yet, what is "here"? Because I saw you SOMEWHERE back there."

"Like I said before, I don't really know. But whatever this place is, I can't seem to leave for some reason. Well, that was until that feeling woke me up. Then I have found myself weakly drifting. I have to return HERE, though because for some reason I fade away the further I stay away. ”

"Kinda like a ghost attached to something. Hold on! What feeling?"

"Yeah, I guess so. As for the feeling, I just remember this anger washing over me, filling me up, are those the right words? Then like I said before, I was here. Somewhat alert and most certainly confused.”

Harry thought about it for a second. He couldn't deny that he was angry with Tom, but was it honestly to the point that he broke something loose mentally? Guess he could add anger management to his growing list of issues.

"Wait! If that's the case, …. You don't think ……."

"I have a feeling that you aren't going to be trapped here." The other Harry interrupted slight frustration in his voice. He crossed his dainty arms as Harry breathed a deep, loud sigh. Harry stilled the smile threatening to spill over his face at the funny look that his clone was giving him.

"Sorry." He whispered quietly, averting his eyes from the still amusingly pouting doppelgänger. "Still, though, that doesn't explain why you are here or what you even are. Again no offense. I mean, you are saying you are me ……."

"I … AM … A … PART … of you."

"….. Okay, and I am not saying you aren't. I mean, you DEFINITELY look like me. The thing is how can you be me ….. when I am ….. Ummm …… me?"

It was the clone's turn to sigh. Harry watched as his nimble fingers played with a loose lock of his dusty hair. When then, the action no longer eased his nerves, the copy then played with his glasses. The only thing other than the burnt clothes that Harry found missing on his own body.

"This whole thing is a mess. As I said, we are both you, but I have been stored away here for some reason. I know, in some cases, a traumatic event can automatically be forgotten. It's something the brain does to keep itself safe. Or …. At least that's what I heard."

"That makes sense, actually," Harry replied, a sudden glowing bench appearing between behind him. Touching the side, he was excited to see that the seat was physical. Which was wonderful because he was starting to feel achy.

"Maybe that's why I am having so much difficulty with remembering everything. Because a piece of me is trapped here."

"It's very possible." The other him said, ignoring Harry's gesture to get the clone to sit beside him.

"We have had quite a life so far. How much do you remember?"

"Not much. My memory is blurry. Other than arriving at Wools with the officer awhile back and the vague snippets of what I once thought were "episodes." I can't seem to remember much of anything, unfortunately. Half the time, I feel like I am asleep."

When the other him said nothing, Harry continued.

"And honestly, I think that is what bothers me the most. I mean, I don't know who I even am!"

"You're Harry."

"Yeah! But who exactly is Harry? Because just by what I have seen, I certainly wasn't ALWAYS like this. I wasn't always …. lost."

The copy drifted closer, its once physical form beginning to appear once more misty the closer it walked. Until it once more resembled merely a faded apparition. Regardless of the strange circumstance, Harry felt comfort at the closeness, especially when he was wrapped in the other him's near translucent arms...

……..

……..

.... _It is growing cold outside, so he is sitting with Jeb in his lap. Just a little bit ago, tiny snowflakes had started falling slowly from the clouded sky. It was a good idea to stay inside with his friend today. Small fingers touch the top of Jeb's hand, giggling when the animal leans into the touch._

_"I am happy that you are safe." He whispers, content with the spoken words. He tries them again, enjoying the sharing the secret that Jeb now knows. Happiness floods his small body as he feels Jeb move into his pocket. Such an affectionate gesture allows him to ignore the hollered yells and racing footsteps outside the door._

“Which memory was that?" Harry whispered as the doppelgänger slowly released his grip.

"A forgotten one, obviously." It answered automatically, a blank look plastered on the clone's face. For some reason, Harry felt that pursuing the answer wasn't the best thing at the time. Even though that last one had a completely different feel then the others.

"Maybe you can help me with remembering?" He asked. "I mean, if I remember, maybe it will free you too."

The clone mulled it over, making Harry wonder exactly there was to mull over. Was his past really that bad?

"Alright, seeing as I am separated from you for some reason."

Harry couldn't resist the urge to jump up and down at the acceptance! As stupid as the whole endeavor was, there was a new feeling of hope that surged within him. He was just getting ready to open up his mouth to say thanks…..

"BUT ….. on one condition….."

So much for the thank you. Harry found himself rolling his eyes at the remark. Why couldn't anything ever be easy?

"You need to return to Wools."

Okay. Now that was unexpected and certainly not happening! With renewed anger, Harry discovered that only now had the bench vanished. Leaving only himself and his clone, which surprisingly no longer looked like an apparition. The other Harry looked identical in physical appearance, baring no glasses and massively ripped long johns.

"See why?" The other him said smugly. "Let me put it to you this way, that place holds SO MUCH of your emotion.

"You mean anger."

"Which IS a powerful emotion, Harry. That being said, since I was awoken by your intense feelings, I think the only way I can help you is by you being in a place that continuously fuels that drive."

"But Tom is there."

"EXACTLY."

"Again, though, TOM IS THERE! He's a BIG arrogant, stubborn, dumb bully….!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH, HARRY!" The doppelgänger yelled, his words making it sound like hundreds of Harry's in the now suffocating space. Harry could just make out the faint blush on his clone's cheeks as the other boy cleared his throat and somehow the room's tension.

"Look. This is exactly the reason why we need to return to Wools. This emotion is what woke me up in the first place! So far, the only place …. The only person that has been able to get you to this high emotional intensity is Tom. If you want my help. If you want to remember. You will listen to me and go back. Because I don't know any other way."

"But I don't want to go back," Harry said quietly. While his whole adventure outside of Wools had been terrifying, it had been freeing. Why would he go back to being caged?

The other seemed to sense the apprehensiveness as he softened his voice, even more. Vanishing to appear directly behind Harry’s still body.

"Do you want to live your life wishing or knowing Harry?" He whispered just as the brunette whirled around. Green eyes searching for the clone, only to disappointingly see nothing darkness. "The choice is yours."

His other self's distant laughter pounded against his eardrums as he was suddenly caught up in the heavy wind. Against his control, Harry noted that he was going backward. His speed increased as he flew through door after door until a bright light coated his vision. Closing his eyes, the nine-year-old braced himself as burning pain suddenly erupted through his body. His own scream merged with the shrill woman’s briefly until everything suddenly stopped.

Well, that was until, he heard a few people auguring in the distance, and a bunch of dogs barking loudly. The new sounds dying down when Harry suddenly found himself coated in his dinner.

Forcing his eyes open but willing them to look elsewhere, he discovered that he was laying stomach up in the middle of a street, having landed beside many trashcans in some sort of dark narrow alleyway. Looking up, he could just make out the tall yet blurred buildings high above him.

"What choice do I even have?"

With a loud groan and a stomach grumble, he turned onto his side, trying to ignore the warm sticky mess on his chest to better nurse his piercing headache. Only for both the headache and vomit to be forgotten when he found himself looking straight into the dumbfounded expression of a fellow child.

For a few seconds, neither individual said anything. But then much to Harry’s amusement, his companion’s face quickly contorted into annoyance.

“Aww, dammit! You ain't dead!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please REVIEW!!!
> 
> Your feedback helps motivate me, a procrastinating author, to write more!
> 
> Thank you so very much for your patience and continuous support!


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